she turns
the darkest night
into a
cloudless day

quiet into a
parade
and seconds..... into the hours
I count

until.... I bathe in her breathlessness

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.

I remember that night at the prom
And you with that green dress on
With me all velveted up
In my fancy tux

Our young hearts thought the song would last
Now all mine does is hum of the past
Forgetting the words
As life runs its course

Your parents up and packed you away
To the cold North where cars used to be made
Now a desolate town
The Japanese tore the dream down

And me in the meantime
Joined Uncle Sam to fight the good fight
I needed the space
To get away

I either came to or out of my senses
Called you up saying I can not do this
The entangled wedding vow
That somehow came about

So you went your way and I went mine
Over the static of the telephone line
I think it worked out for the best
For us and the rest

Now here we are years down the road
My mind suddenly deciding to unload
With that night at the prom
And you with that green dress on

Roads keep on teaching us new lessons in violence,
rage is the law ruling the perfectly chaotic traffic
you are left to fend yourself in this murky waters
where killer whales celebrate the success of  blood thirst.

Men who don't properly breath are atrocious on roads
behind the wheels,they jump signals, break rules
as if their poor mamas made them promise to do all this!
a law  to send such cases to yoga class would do good.
But women with bad driving skills as their assets for life
are no less, in making our lives on each journey miserable

In a road where with impunity, suicide squads operate
your poetic musings, will have to stop, to remain alive.

Just then a police car with a roar stop in my front
authority makes me weary but the cop  behind the wheels
a woman, tells me the story of beauty than a cop's authority
on how beauty softens heat that makes muscles go stiff
She springs out of the cabin of the vehicle she is in
making ripples feminine and also ease in the air.

violence of the machines and the minds in controlling,
speed, broken rules and the thrill of chasing criminals
beauty which brings a change where it is out of place almost.

As I drift in to sleep, after a long drive safe,and few stiff drinks
in my dream's window she sits winking,'drive safe all through life'
"Good by my good cop"I whisper "be soft and right,authority is mess"