post random crap here.

Maybe in a year, I won’t need to share. This load of grief might be lightened by time, like compost, broken down and ready to enrich it’s earth, my mind, my soul . . .

But for now, I need to break it into bits and share it with strangers. If strangers share, then perhaps the weight of it all will feel inconsequential. After all they weren’t holding her hand when she died. So they might not remember the way I said goodbye and thought her eyes opened – death’s way of sneaking up and tricking you into thinking she’s woken up! She’s here to talk now! Then why isn’t she breathing???? Am I really screaming for my father or am I being still, holding my own breath while they listen for a heartbeat?

If people unknown to us were to remember the way her body turned from warm to cool while I couldn’t let go then maybe it would take from my chest the bluntest pain. Maybe the image of her fingernails turning blue would leave my mind. I didn’t need to watch, but I couldn’t look away.

If a stranger to her home shared in my memories, then the lightest heavy task of doing laundry, folding her clothes and putting them in her dresser wouldn’t feel so oddly normal. For where else would I put them?

If strangers ponder the moment the pastor announced to the congregation that she was the first of 12 – twelve – TWELVE – to leave us – then maybe my guilt for feeling so angry at that would simply leave me.

Perhaps if kind souls walking a path apart from mine were overwhelmed with the view of hundreds of mourners as we left to bury her, I could sleep.

If people I have never have met replayed the moment the sickest brown earth was uncovered before me so that my mother could be placed into the ground, maybe the gnawing, biting wind that accompanied this saddest moment wouldn’t return to sting my cheeks wet from snot and tears.

Maybe? I am hopeful.

~

quantity for the holiday.

Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs

Oof Du!

I wonder about the movie. Supposedly, the Kimmel family, portrayed as the Finches in the book are suing this author for privacy and defamation of character. Hmmmmmm . . .

aged and apart
falling, spaced and absent
unwilling, unforced, unabashed
kept the thoughts of you
not sure what to do with them now

feared and cautious
stuck, bewildered and captured
uncomfortable, underestimated, understood
grateful for the kindness of you
not sure there is a path for us to follow

i’ve been away from my own computer and it seems i’ve been less active on 43T than usual, but it’s almost over. by the 2nd week in August i shall be calm. if i repeat this mantra, it shall come to be, yes? i have a rather large/important test to pass on the 4th of August in Seattle. after completing it, i think the more enjoyable task of setting up my classroom will increase in soothing power. i’m still at my parents house having to say goodbye to nephews and other close family. we’ll see how that goes. i’m not a huggy goodbye person. i hate to cry but it seems i shall be overcome by both these enemies in the coming hours . . .

but i think i’m done

terror knows not to flee
it holds firm like this man
it takes and grips insanity
and will do what it can
to loosen the seams past mended
ship calm & peace away
to drift lifetimes unattended
so nothing will keep at bay
terror’s song of pure delight
& stretching of simple moments
into the reddest, slippery fight
void of reason, gain or hope sense

pass completely over
as an impotent hailstorm
slice it open, cruel lover
bulging, remorseful fear-swarm
while Earth keeps its rhythm mothered
despite elicit demands
the key shall be discovered
once he removes his hands

Racing, pacing, chasing
Altogether, we are separate
Contradicting these connections
Are simply complete complex parts
Loathing in selfishness
Heart’s passion a gift
Left to wander the oasis of the desert
Starving on this feast
Borne of a stolen death
After this rebirth