Suddenly without warning
Picked up lifted unknowing
I slammed into the floor.
How with so little weight
From so short a distance
Did I hit so hard?
Bruises purple on multiple limbs;
Abraded cuts seep blood;
Joints threaten new pain.
Am I my body?
Am I my body?
Am I my body?
(Yes)
Among seconds lightly
Weightless without linger
Slip into between
No more here
Not ever there
Not be missed
Nor noticed gone
Having never been
Except I was and am
Does it matter
No and no and no
throw ourselves fully into the days
fill ourselves with every gaze
no fear of what’s to come
each moment the only one
love does not depart a tide
one leap enough to be alive
though not here we never leave
one breath all we have to breathe
giving all gains forever
one note a symphony everlasting
Outside, my tears will freeze.
Why not do this?
Bejewel my face with sorrow,
Diamantine drops fissured with loss,
Gauzy breath a mourning veil,
White with the purity of grief.
Frigid winter honors anguish,
Its elegiacal landscape befitting bereavement.
I bow my head in thanks,
And glittering gems fall to the ground.
the day begins.
tears before I’m awake,
the absence of you an ache,
still I rise and open the door,
knowing that the day will greet me
if I allow it, and so I do.
this morning I saw treetops on the ridge
shine in golden glory within the early dawn,
a brief bright exultance in the winter’s gloom,
and thought, “this. this is enough.”
once I would have demanded more,
before you and the knowledge
that love is also a sudden flash of radiance,
unexpected in brilliance and depth,
gone in an instant.
I learned to hold beauty lightly with an open heart:
dancing snow drifting smoke daggered moonlight
entwine around my fingers and fall from my outstretched hands.
Far too frigid too icy too slick
To step foot outside without extreme cause,
So no one gets to try the new recipe,
Not even the neighbor right next door.
Sip hot tea and desultorily play Scrabble,
Beating the bots by far too much.
More street noise than there should be,
And wonder if these cars’ drivers are driven
By necessity, bravado, or stupidity.
Some combination, most likely.
Heart hurts, and miss her miss her miss her.
My first winter here we had a blizzard,
With snow so deep that doors wouldn’t open
And snowplows quickly gave up.
I was no novice to such weather but still
I leaned my head against the icy window
And wished myself back in a warmer clime.
I did not love the mountains yet, nor this small rural town
With its strange ways and stranger folk.
This was unfamiliar in every sense, and I longed
For the soft cadence of a French-tinged voice,
The welcome of a cup of cafe au lait, and the offer of buttermilk pie.
In the early morning I walk,
The streets still and dark before sunrise,
The thud of footsteps audible as a heart beat,
The plume of breath clouding briefly.
I leave thoughts behind,
No need of them during this short journey,
And carry only grief as silent companion.
A poor substitute indeed, for she would run down the hill,
Fast and lithe as liquid joy, dancing until I caught up.
Grief slows me, this knowledge
That her dying body weighed so heavy.
Perhaps that was just the fall of my heart-
I had thought it hollowed- as it died with her.
I return to the warmth of the apartment,
And I am alone.
I won’t throw sorrow to the winter yet, to have
Grief blown in gusts through chimney smoke
Tears mingled with drizzle down window panes
Loss fractured like hard rime on the windward ridge.
I keep it close as I would keep her,
In full knowledge that this mourning cloak
Provides no warmth with its cold black folds.
I will let it go in time
That time when I no longer fear
That without its harsh comfort I would shatter.
I know and I don’t
I cannot catch up
My mind stutters
My heart falters
My body seizes
I leave but look back
I can see you
Just beyond the reach of my eye
When I return
Hand on the door to open
Each beat of my heart
Each breath that I take
Says only
Be there
Be there
Be there
My tears know
My tears are wisest
My tears grant my forgetful entirety
The bitter sting of kindness
The salty reminder of grief