We Know

Your quizzes
try my nerves
 
The spirit is gone
we can say
 
What I can’t mention is
how my soul was bolted,
fixed by that narrow moment –
moans bursting my lungs –
and then the absence
turned out to be
chronic.
 
All you see is me weary
almost collapsing
with the relentless
stab at perfection,
masking and abstracting
my deepest wound
 
Stranded and moored,
unfettered
we cannot pool
anything together
ever
 
That is the pittance
we know.
 
This was written for Shawna’s Monday Melting at rosemarymint.wordpress.org!  
 
 Also linked to Open Link night at dversepoets at http://dversepoets.com/! 

The End

I would trade all,

my effervescent adolescence,

every fetching moment,

to avoid that elision.

 

Demure are the days,

and lithe the years,

since the ineffable

 

A mere harbinger

of the coming penumbra

could not be afforded

 

The end of serendipity

leading me down a

long lane of lassitude

This was written for Shawna’s Monday Melting Prompt at http://www.rosemarymint.wordpress.org

Smoking Will Kill

 

Smoking will kill you

Muttering it is useless,
Screaming it vain.

Shaken to reason
by the heart doctor’s blank stare,
the boat entirely missed.

Machines humming
powerful tunes into her,
ones hummed since childhood.

All that grinding gathering speed,
gathering fear, fluent in you.

Rise, spit it out, slam it down,
All is useless, all is vain.

Except an abnormal
one-on-one May day–
overgrown field,
youth and her true hum,
strawberry juice running down your chin,
and love so deep
the grinding will never grasp.

Written for Shawna’s first edition of THURSDAY MELTING here at http://www.rosemarymint.wordpress.org.

My Ire

 

the days uncoil continuously

the earth proceeds forward

with a zest unheard of

a year since your death

or is it nine months?

five weeks, maybe.

or was it three days?

It was just last Saturday

you ordered the apple cider

for your Keurig.

I swallow a tepid cup of cider

and think

no match am I

for the days and the earth

not a great fit anymore

no choice but to bend

nicely to their will

be docile

enjoy the remaining days

and think

an august service

black lace

brown casket

the air cold and acidic

my ire

does not stop a thing

This is a response to Shawna’s Melting Monday prompt!  


For C. Winn Canfield

What Remains

I became

Because

Of your foray in a hospital bed

in Culpeper

 

Did you have an inkling

or did you just see the end

 

no eye yet for my tool,

retrospect

that prophetic backward telescope

 

or did you

feel a slight breeze

a hint and a whiff of something off,

the pure smell of dread

 

you could not be there

to do the most important thing

to buck the chins

of your daughters up

way up

 

to not let them ever settle

 

and despite time’s shedding

and life helping out with her fine-toothed comb

removing all traces of you

 

your end

ensured

 

what remains

a granddaughter you never met

mourning your death fifty-two years hence

wishing she could change

that hospital day

 

a change that would surely

have blotted out her existence