Nine years and still
we cradle our grief
carefully close,
like groceries
in paper bags.

Eventually the milk
will make its way
into the refrigerator;
the canned goods
will find their home
on pantry shelves.

Most things find
their proper place.

Eventually the hummingbirds
will ricochet against scorched air,
their delicate beaks stabbing
like needles into the feeder filled
with red nectar on the back porch.

Eventually our child
will make her way
back to us. Perhaps.

But I’ve heard
that shooting
****** feels
like being
buried under
an avalanche
of cotton *****.

For now it’s another
week, another month,
another trip to Safeway.

We drive home and wonder
why it is always snowing.
Behind a curtain of snow,
brake lights pulse, turning
the color of cotton candy,
dissolving into ghosts.

And with each turn,
the groceries shift
in the seat behind us.
From the spot where
our daughter used to sit,
there is a rustling sound—

a murmur of words
crossed off yet another list,
a language we’ve budgeted
for but cannot afford to hear.

so, I sat on my stool thinking about poetic things
themes analogies metaphors
a stream
of wandering turning eddying
slowing down pooling
breaking the edges  falling like water does
following
the easy path
I started typing
here now
just flowing trying to be the water
crystal clear and my god ****** mind
is more like  the mud the water stirs off the banks the bottom
brown red blood of earthen liquid koolaid for
the fishes
mixed tiny animals swirling to an end
food for the sole
the cod the bluegills in that hole
laughing about
us humans complicating
it all

I've learned to be completely in love with myself. Not in the form of cockiness, but in the form of strength. Instead of looking for someone to be my muscle when I was weak I decided to accept the challenge of not letting anyone break me simply because I was so happy with myself anyone who didn't love me the way I love myself wouldn't be able to bring me to ruins. I have became very careful of who gets to experience me. I don't want anyone who is not worthy being able to know the deepest parts of me. How you love yourself is how you teach others to love you. Love isn't perfect but love always means respect. The moment you see how precious you are is the moment you put an end to anyone trying to harm you.

- Analysa Marie

what was once Ivory
has now returned to granite
BOTH WE LIE, IN THE EARTH,
yet i.. i am still tortured with breath, with sight.

there is no need of voice.
i will hang on the farewell as it is a rope from Troy around my neck.
lull me down with you please, please, please. i am nothing but that.
there is nothing more to be said.

HOW DO YOU LIVE WHEN WHAT MADE YOU YOU IS DEAD?
(sleep in the wheat, i will be there soon.)
you find the quickest way to them instead.
                                                        ­          
                                 i am not sorry.

I can no longer write
what must come out now is feeling
No words just color, line and texture.