I remember vividly,
Thanksgiving, 1999.
I asked my mother
for a sip of her wine
(Pinot Grigio).

She hesitated, then laughed,
and let me press my small lips
against the rim
of the long stem glass.

The cool liquid
stung the back
of my throat
as it went down,
and I furrowed my brows
in disgust.

"Why would anyone drink this?"
Adult laughter erupted
around the table.

I didn't smile.
I wondered what they knew
That I did not.

Flash forward.
Present day wino
with a strong preference
for red
but a known policy
of indifference.

I enjoy it now.

But every once in a while,
I take a sip
that stings the back
of my throat.
And as I furrow my brows
in disgust,
I remember
That I still don't know
anything.

I broke one of my mother's figurines
when I was helping her move the
Christmas tree downstairs.

She glued it back together but it wasn't
quite the same. The visible cracks still
a reminder of what occurred.

She told me it was fine but I felt so bad that
I bought her the same one again so it
was as if the original had never broken.

Now she proudly displays the two side
by side and insists that the original
is her favorite.

We've been expecting rain
for three days.

The weathermen get it wrong sometimes too,
I suppose.

Besides, rain always seems to come
when you least expect it.

If loving you is stepping off a cliff
I would gladly take that step
Over and over again.

Falling
           down
                     down.

Tangled limbs and broken bones.

Smiling all the while.

Eyes
closed.

Nostrils
flared.

Lips
just
barely
parted.

I used to think that the penalty
for devastating loss
was a metaphorical
            hole
                   in your
heart.

And though that
            hole
                  made you
broken,
something would come along
to fill that
            hole.

All things broken
could be made new again.

I know now,
that is not true.
A
            hole
                   in your
heart,
cannot be filled.

When you lose a piece
of yourself,
that piece is gone.
Forever.

And no amount of love,
or support,
can restore you
to shiny, new condition.

But
that is not to say
that the broken
cannot be healed.

For though a heart
can never be made
             whole
again,

It can be made larger.

You can never replace
the missing pieces,
But you can always
collect more.

And though more surface area
leaves more opportunity for
              holes,
It also changes the size
of the existing ones
relative to what's left.

You will never not miss
what you have
lost.

You will never not feel
burdened by your
brokenness.

But it will get easier.

The sunshine filters in
dancing starlight across your cheeks
crisp white teeth gleam
behind sun-kissed lips
And I smile
because you
are all
            mine.

The moon is bright and full
Like my heart
My heart is full and bursting
Like a berry
Red and ripe
And ready
To be devoured
By
   your
           love