Tag: mom

The regrets churn in me
The lost time
and distracted moments
The missing of it all
while I lived my life.

She would never say so
But without her
to tell me no
I am convinced.

Beauty was the trigger today
some would say she
lives there now
In that beauty
the sunlight on the rocks
and in the sparkle of the water
in the pink of a sunrise
and the red of the sunset
She lives in the light
and I in the shadows
cold and hard and frightening
ready, always now,
for what lurks there.

It takes a village to bury a child, I read
But I haven’t buried mine
She remains, her remains
in the bag that I brought
her home in – in the
trunk of my car
from Tucson
where they killed her
Because the horror of
her being in a purple grocery bag
on my nightstand
does not yet outweigh
the confusion
of burying her

Laughter in the halls
Just another day
Check it off the list
Just another day
Look the part
work the round brush
to give them the brush
off, on to the next
damage done or undone
to be done or
not yet done
no fault no blame
just another day
Laughter in the hall
after you checked it off
the list and
pushed the button
to the next savior
to save
the next dealer
provider, stealer
of hearts and lives
push the button
just another day
to the top or to
the bottom
Laughter in the halls
Just another day

Zip-ties and cellophane
Cotton and silk
You and them
Pasted on smile
As I seep and spoil
through the gaps
of what binds me