the tree we've left up for you
is now dry
once full branches, drooping
unopened gifts languishing beneath
we'll figure something else out baby
we just need you to come home
this black rage
snaps me awake
as my heartbeat quickens
i would relish the chance to shatter a dish
or all of them, really
an explosion of porcelain and dust
all over the kitchen floor
There is major disconnect
Of that I am sure
Is it me or is it you?
There was a time when
The sky was always a brilliant blue
Was that me or was it you?
Love poured freely
From my heart and yours
It pours more slowly now
Left no space for doubt
There are small gaps now
Is there time
To go back in time
The worst anxiety takes hold - a panic.
Cold sweat and my fear mounts.
Breathing shallow and can’t quite reach that coveted FULL, DEEP breath.
(Where is it?)
I yawn to encourage it along.
Unsatisfying success until the next time.
I try to capture you with my words
And my images
Your beginnings, middles and ends.
The shifting of your color palette
The wildness of your seasons.
I slowly turn the tap from hot to lukewarm
From lukewarm to just hovering above freezing
Enough to swiftly shove me back into the present
But not so forceful as to leave a bruise
Gooseflesh and a long sigh
This is week number six.
I find solace in the song of the birds
in the quiet hum of the refrigerator
in my breath as it flows in and out
I find solace in your arms as they hold me
and in the simple act of
dipping my spoon into half melted ice cream
I find solace in the thunder
and wildness of it all
And now, in the unknown.