I dream sienna
Sunsets drippppppping
Onto rocks
Carving red rivers
That slice down
…………….down
…………….down
…………….down
…………….down
Like blood bathed tears
Slice flesh.
It is a Grand Canyon of pain
River winding edge to edge
Touching grief upon grief
From the top
Black trees silhouette
Against a flaming sky
scorched earth burning
in the beauty of pain.
It’s new again.
Baby love.
Cuteness overload.
I miss old, familiar love,
but this sweet face is balm
to a broken heart.
.
.
Miniature poodle Mrang Such Outlandish Style (Kiltti) 13 weeks old.
It is lonely
Seeing ghosts of wagging tails
Dancing feet and twinkling eyes.
To remember joy made physical
Only because of my existence.
It is lonely
To catch the movements
From the corners of my eyes
Of furry bodies no longer present.
Grief is a hard, hard, hard burden.
But you,
Are lighter without the responsibility
Lighter with the freedom
Lighter from the consequences.
Lighter with the isolation
That is not loneliness to you.
But oh,
It is to me,
And my heavy heart struggles
With this burden of grief.
Knowing you. Knowing me.
Knowing the sacrifice you make
To bring some relief from grief,
To bring me a piece of joy again,
Wagging on the tip
of a tiny tail.
2016/04/08
Our broken heart
has not mended;
the hole of your absence
will never fill.
But crushed and anguished
though it is,
there is room for love
still.
So we open to new
affections even
while we’re missing you.
We welcome new joy
and celebrate your memory,
as we remember you
in reverie.
Tears appear;
truth pools in her eyes.
She looks out the window, scenery unseen,
one droplet, breaking free, tracks a slow progress across
cheek,
chin,
neck.
Another makes the parallel journey.
She turns her face, while she waits, wishes,
then slowly grows the knowledge
that what is
will be.
She weeps out the weakness.
While there may be grief,
acceptance brings resilience.
Resilience
is the power of belief
and relief.
Every day you
walk through the door
wait for the greeting
a joyful embrace
(or in lieu
a wagging tail would do).
I am overwhelmed
by my responsibilities
and the weight of my grief
that creeps up unexpectedly
to undermine my clarity
to bury me with memories
and underscore my sense of loss.
I’ll hide myself from Helios: find
some sand to stick my head beneath.
Too exhausted to care
whether the sensitive child is traumatized
by my insistence that she complete the
assignment as required.
Too exhausted to laugh
at the absurdity of end of term panic
after six weeks of poor attendance and disorganization.
Too exhausted to do more
than get through the day myself,
with nothing left for under-achievers who think
I should go over and above for them.
Too exhausted today to care
more about student success they they do.
There’s always tomorrow.
I’m flipping the pancake
and no furry friend is tangled in my legs
hoping for disaster.
The popcorn maker
called the scavengers to feast,
now only I eat.
Shawn L. Bird 