somewhere an emotion tumbles into existence
ex nihilo, or maybe not
in the great universe of the mind it could be from the outer rim
I can only feel the train rumbling in the distance
vibrating, gently

and then boom it flies in and explodes
right next to me so my blood and sinew
escape my gravitational pull
but the emotion doesn't care and it tumbles
and tumbles, like a snowball

a great cosmic snowball of misplaced nothing
or maybe it's a black hole,
because nothing escapes its horizon
everything around us goes rushing in
and it all is smashed relentlessly

around this giant ball is a fringe
of pretense
there must be some explanation in the brain
and so it is constructed around the emotion
justified by the emotion

if faith is belief without sight
splitting is justifying all the dark in the heart
no facts need apply
cause emotions don't lie
so we have this construct of make-belief

we burn on and on and die and die
nothing is real but the feel
and no one can try to explain
who can hear facts clamoring
in the middle of all this pain?

then boom and bust and the snowball
melts, and the star goes supernova
and all that's left is an eerie silence
and the construct created to explain
the anger that took the rein

what do we do with that?
it's a fragile paper mache
and the balloon is popped
and it was just air?
how is this fair?

we watch it collapsing
what do we see?
everything around is gone
consumed by the fury and the fire
now we can see

the moment of decision:
for you, for me
how do we unwind
the mess that was made
from this ball of irrationality?

I remember you with the brown eyes and
blonde hair, arranged in a cute little bob.
I remember you, bright smile and dark tan,
looking for her first babysitting job.
The toddler-you made me quake in my boots,
but the older-you seemed collected and cool,
a teenager with solid family roots,
popular and very well-liked at school.
Today it's all gone. I ache for your mom,
and your sisters, your brother, your dad.
The pain you've inflicted has little balm--
Did you know you could make joy itself sad?

Words fall; they clatter to the floor like
the shoes the five-year-old discarded
or things returning to gravity
after an extended time in space.

These thoughts had just been dancing
between us, whipping between us
ruffling our hair and mussing
any claim we had to perfection.

But then, you snapped your fingers
and they fell. Harmless, motionless
there on the floor where we dropped
them, and, by will, we forgot them.

Yet: I did not snap my fingers.
I let go when I saw your words fall;
I let go and mine fell too, joining
yours in sparse synchronicity.

(and you don't know what an act
of blank force that was for me
to fall with you in a mad hope
that I don't even grasp or hold)

I know you think it was your snap
alone that made the words fall down
to be dead and harmless echoes
for you to forget so promptly.

But I let go. Through bitter choice,
determination. Sad reaching
for character and battered love.
My words were pain; yours were knives.

I'm glad you dropped them. Obviously.
And I'm glad I did, seamlessly
so that you wouldn't notice how
we just papered over my blood.

Forgiveness is a sticky thing,
most brilliant when drowned in concealed tears.
And my words, fading equal with yours—
the messy debris of the holy.

The lies we tell
About happiness
About ever after
Fragmenting us
Pieces of a beautiful picture
A puzzle
So pretty, so art
Until you pick it up
And pieces in your hands
Fall
In a heaped mess.
Love that is whole
So whole
Such an example
Such a lovely life.
But we know
We hold disconnected, broken bits
Torn out of our souls
Just pretending
To be one
To be beautiful
When two become
One
Set of shards.

Pain etches deep in the mother's heart.
Fear burrows into my soul.
Are the ducklings home,
And will they remain?
The moment, I can feel, is so fleeting.

If I could see the future, would I shudder?
One day will they hold me, or scold?
These days I'm writing now, will they return and haunt me?
Oh children, am I bringing you joy or pain?

These little ones are so simple to shepherd,
But they grow into each a man.
And the adult will reflect and stand alone and judge,
And I'm afraid they'll find me wanting.

I see my failures lined in a row
And I know there are more beside
Invisible to my eyes but written in their hearts
So fragile were these things I treated so roughly!

Pain etches deep in the mother's heart.
Remorse buried in my soul.
Can the ducklings, grown,
Forgive my mistakes?
These chances were so quickly fleeing!

In history,
Anonymous was a woman, she said.
And certainly,
Anonymous has since been me.
I've been hiding,
Not hidden. Afraid of shame.

I just want to float down
Like a leaf in fall
That has finally
Finished
The hard work of
Sustaining a giant tree.
And turning brown
Blowing out a brilliant
Hue
To fall down
And rest
On the ground
Crunched by the feet
Of the passing schoolchildren
And ground
At long last
Into dust.