A simple excuse is what most need and they think
that justice is a synonym for revenge. They claim
that all they do is natural and not an act of distress.
So how can i quite this part of me that at any tipping
point someone will linch and act uncontrollably
achieving only to hurt those he or she loves.
I fear that most can not bear to lose any more and they
would give into a comfort zone, into zestless and
voiceless acts only leading to their ruin.
The world is a harsh place and there are those who
would see others suffer for their own gain, even
flay those who would try to help them.
Difficult to be stronger than our excuses but what is
worse from losing ourselves.

I remember when you watched your son die. I wish I could have told you the world lost him too that day but I couldn't find the words between my heart shattering and losing my will to live. The light in your eyes disappeared after that. You made several failed bargains with God. Your 70th birthday was a prelude to his funeral. Your wife often set an extra place at the table for him on Sundays and this always broke your heart. I would watch as you took your plate in your safe haven to watch a game. This is the same place you and him spent 35 years bonding. We would watch the door around five sometimes hoping he would walk in the door with his work clothes slowly coming off as usual. Usually, someone made you coffee after the realization that his car had been parked in the same spot for months. He wasn't coming back and you took this the hardest. You lost yourself in sadness and found yourself in rage. I often watched you under the door as you would cut up quotes of scriptures at 3 am humming a tune I now hum out of habit. You would often scream profanity in church parking lots as if it was payback for God taking your son from you. Close family reminded you of the reunions your son was alive to see and even closer family bothered you. You would call me him sometimes and I would answer in the same voice I later answered in when you could not remember me. You let losing 1/4th of the home you created destroy you. I watched you slowly degenerate for six years at this time, swallowing back the words I wanted to tell you with the words everyone wanted me to tell you. You got really sick in 2013. Your final stages were emotional. It was 2014. I lost a part of myself searching for things you couldn't remember. You wouldn't talk to me as much at first because you saw the hurt in my eyes. You would force yourself to say a name. The correct name. My name. I couldn't look you directly in the eyes anymore. You lost hope in yourself. Your life. Everyone around you did as well but me. I cried because I wanted you to live and you didn't. You would scream. You would cry. You would laugh. You would get lost. You would fall. Someone would pick you up. You would not eat. You would watch TV in amazement as if it had just been invented. Someone would visit. Someone would ask about you in our daily trips to town. You would complain that your clothes are expanding but you were just losing weight. You would get angry. You would calm down. We would talk about something and I would smile and your eyes would light up as if you knew me again. It was as if you saw me as that little girl you taught to be a loud Braves fan. That girl you would take into town just because. This was a weekly repeat of our last summer together. When I left you were eating and you had started to turn back into the old you. Our phone calls were short and scattered after that. I disappeared in November and came back in January. Grandma told me you wouldn't talk and I visited you. You talked. Your smile was weak and your eyes weren't blue anymore. You didn't eat. You looked as if you were tired and I wanted you to sleep. When I left that day, I smiled and told you I loved you and that you should get some rest. You told me "okay sweetie I love you too" and I hugged you. We didn't speak after that. You left in February.

Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no--
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter--
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chisled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.

And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.

Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.