Tag Archives: loss

the bearable light of being

we adapt, mitigate

beholding devastation

in a moment of transcendent light

we’ll call it beauty

i am no exception

golden hour light on a butchered monoculture landscape

sunday

my feelings, brimming / about to spill onto the floor/ i’ve got no strength, bread or bucket / to sop or mop them anymore/


worth

i measure my worth

in deer so at ease they’ll eat kale from the garden, less than five meters from my door

by a home-cooked meal eaten together, still hot

in heritage Jimson weed blooms on summer nights

& harvested, unblemished squash on autumn afternoons

in bats sighted overhead at dusk from the stoop

in thriving houseplants, all named and watered

in clean sinks, sheets, floors and birdbaths

by pages read, no matter

by the number of rabbits who see me and then ignore my presence

in folks, walking exhausted, or in rain, who accept my offer, climb into my truck with their groceries or booze for a lift home

in miles walked with the dog, and in patience as he interprets the “news” thoroughly with his nose

in native prairie plants restored, by my hand, New England asters, sweetgrass, have mercy,

in minutes spent on the phone with my son,
my golden boy

in bluebirds who sing on my bedroom windowsill especially on my birthday

in knowing how the Moon will look this evening even before she rises

in poems written by, for or about me

in acorns from the sapling white oak i planted, knowing one day, i won’t be able to count them all

with a plate of at least 6 different kinds of freshly cut fruit

in hummingbirds, monarchs, hummingbirds, monarchs, hummingbirds who visit to feed, rest or cocoon

in vibing unabashedly
to music playing loudly
in the barn, in the yard, in the car

in frogs perched on the back porch light, and toads spotted and avoided on the sidewalk in the dark

in trust placed in me

in Duchenne smiles from friends and strangers, but especially strangers, and in the intense knowing look from babies anywhere, but especially in line at Walmart

by how long i kept the christmas tree – fir, spruce, or pine – drinking and alive, far more so than a dozen long-stemmed red roses

by the crows that come back again and again, recognizing my face, voice and reliable aluminum pail / us, counting on one another

by a batch of perfectly brewed and bottled sweet, iced tea

in spying even one snake, one turtle or one heron all year long

and,

by love,

by love,

by love

and that’s why / for a while,

i will feel worthless
worth less
less worth

less.


play possum

i’m fine

nothing’s wrong

i just really love this song
gives me the blues sometimes, is all

a snake, a possum, a doe and fawn
on the roadside killed, again, i saw

i heard the breaking news story
i’m awfully raw, so please ignore me

this world can be so cruel and wicked
of course, my tender heart’s afflicted

my glistened eyes, lump throat, quiver lip

you think they’re for you? well, that’s rich.

all lies, and also, all true.


mermaid

i feel the gravity
the love
the loss
so close || this close
almost, almost, almost

buoyed then anchored

an internal saltwater aquifer suffusing me

with congestive heartbreak

swelling and stiffening my limbs
i cant walk to you or anyone
beached in my own body

my eyes filling my mouth, my throat
i can’t talk to you or anyone
muted by our illicit drug

swallow,
swallow,
swallow

that sea inside you

or else,

drown, drown, drown

in it

i am not a mermaid
i am a human woman

yet my belly’s pregnant
with an ocean

she’s y/ours

[ i’ve named her Inez ]


how are you?

the phone rings

i step myself off the ledge,
fall back into the window,
onto the hard floor,
crawl across the rug,
back into my bed

oh, hello!

i’m fine, how are you?


someone

i feel like someone
you last loved on a wednesday,
earlier this week

i feel like someone who was once your intense singular joy/ now again, an invisible naturalist, poet, neologist and crone

i feel like someone you forgot to mention the Hilma Af Klint show to

i feel like someone losing our intimacy
exponentially, by the second, against a shot clock in an un-United Center

i feel like someone whose forehead you won’t kiss; whose hollows you’ll never touch with hands or tip; like someone who’ll never climax again

i feel like someone who upset you with
Dreaming and that’s where it ended; who never listened to your diatribe about Waco, or heard of your plane rituals and four-part fruition

i feel like someone whose mystery you’ll let be; whose content is consumed without gnosis; like cold leftovers

i don’t feel like someone who you will walk across a frozen Lake or dry Lake bed to get to anymore in the apocalypse, station eleven style

i feel like someone who was found because of fresh words about rosy-golden light and then who was lost because of stale words about time

i feel like someone whose Diego died before she did and who missed meeting her Henry Miller, humbly

i feel like someone who swallowed all the art she’ll never create with you and she’s choking on it

i feel like someone who’s just about to close up the library – MH

i feel like someone who you owe nothing to because that’s exactly how you told me to feel

i feel like someone waking from a months-long dream, but it was actually a coma from a head-on collision, exposition

crash into me again, please

this time, let me die knowing i’m your sweet,
i’m your love


ps i feel like someone who just wrote the last poem you’ll ever read about you
but i don’t feel like someone who just wrote her last poem about you