Grief as an interlude.
The in-between performance.
Where shoeless days, wandering forests—
meet
black-dressed, paired farewells.

Where velvet curtains close and draw,
a symphony has long prepared
(for you).

Percussion slices into silence.
Clarinets hum in minor tune.
The bass joins in—they’ve been appointed.

Welcome to Grief’s Interlude.

The music plays now just for you.
Regret takes center stage.

What wasn’t said.

“What could I do?”

The music begins to fade.
I guess it’s time we see the view
from our heart’s balcony.

Crossing legs and leaning in—
anticipating more…
A special place for all our kin
is bursting from our core.

Cymbals reach the back of room.
The flutes play loud and low.
The composer pulls a handkerchief—
tears and sweat compel this show.

You feel so sorry.
You feel alive.
You feel memories—sharp and sore.
They’re taking bows.
The act has closed.
Another’s passing through death’s door.

Welcome to Grief’s Interlude.

Awoke full rested,
In cozy bed nested,
And sudden awareness,
My heated heart,
Undulating,
Unnaturaly,
Rhythmically synchronicity with the gentle lapping
Of the genteel,
Well behaving, quieting waves,
Of Shelter Island Bay,
On the shores of
Silver Beach

7/21/25
8:22am

●

Last night I'd dreamed
That my hair dye
Ran away from me,
Faster than Road Runner
From Wile E. Coyote
I stopped and froze -
my face aghast
A boring old brunette
I was once again,
A sad little ghost
Of my deep blue past

Self-expression is the key
To me being me
With my rainbow locks,
And my funky socks
If I can't have magical
My Little Pony hair,
Then what would I be?!

I used to be so monochrome
No makeup
"Just an ugly betty" I'd donned
No cute and fun hues
On her colour palette,
Just more shades of grey
That faded to black -
Betty was always
The habit rabbit

At first I said
I wanted pink hair -
But lots of "fun" women
Have pink hair,
So I'd told my stylist
I wanted green
But she knew colour theory
Would muddy its sheen

I thought long,
I thought hard
And then -
A spark
Orange would certainly
Be a light in the dark!

Who said
I couldn't be a traffic cone?
Or a carrot Bugs Bunny
Munches on?  

No yellow-bellied lizard here,
Brown study Betty must take
Her books elsewhere
Scootaloo is tickled pink -
And to think,
She used to believe
That she couldn't gleam!

●