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Sunday, May 22, 2011

Photo & Poem - Speak, Girl, Speak

I hold my brindle
best friend in my arms
as you did so often.

I ask her if she
remembers any secrets
you told her.

I know you had
conversations
with the animals.

I loved that
about you;

I try to talk to them
too, but
they don't speak to me.

When I call,
"Hi there little birds,"
the flock flies away.

I also still
tend to hug
the cats till
they cry.

Our dog
is always by my side.
The cats
rush to climb
on me when
I come home.

Am I sad for them,
or me,
or you
that I am only
a suitable substitute
for you
in their minds?

They are full of life
and love,

but I must
prepare for
the day
I have to hold them
in my arms and

lie

to them

the way

I lied

to you.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Poem - My Righteous Kill

I killed
a spider this morning.
It fell
twitchingly to ground
from door frame, and
the blunt end of
my pen was
covered with its
soft tissues.

I killed
it in retaliation for
the brown recluse who
bit my mother;
I killed
it to keep others from
suffering.

I rinsed
off my pen in the
water fountain and upon reflection,
understand
how fortunate
men are that
spiders do not
behave like men.

Sunday, May 08, 2011

Poem - The Mother Of Certainty

In Mother's home
there will always be a kettle
of hot water for tea on the stove
(or a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge),
a jar of peanut butter
on the table, and
a container of the tempting results
of a recent baking session.

It may be unwise to take
comfort in these few bits of
certainty when life is so
unsure. How else do you
drown out the ticking of the
death clocks winding
down all around?
The loudest of which is
our own.

I was grief stricken and
wallowing when she said,
"Now you have to do only
what Carney wants.
You have to figure out
what you want."
Of course this was said with
love; it was also said with
an appropriate amount of
sadness and anticipation.

Mom has shown me that
life is to be enjoyed,
loved ones are to be held close, and
acceptance of a truth is always
the first step. Doubt your choices
while moving on;
life is meant to be lived
and remembered.