Tag Archives: sadness

Hospice (#312)


Pinch me
I’m alive
I’m breathing
Take my skin
Between your finger and your thumb
And squeeze
I don’t care if you bruise me
I’m alive
I’m breathing
That is enough for me

If you reach to me
I will take my hands
And smooth all of your anger into hope
Make the sky shiny again
Help you fall in love with blue
Like you were back when
Sadness mattered as much to us
As vegetables–
Things older people worried about

Connect with me
I’m alive
I’m breathing
You are alive
You are breathing
We do not have to fly into death
Nor into sorrow

Joy is still possible.

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Posted by on November 9, 2016 in new poetry


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Unspoken (#4)

This is the white perimeter of sadness
A smooth open field
Constant as silence
Still, but almost breathing

We do not talk
Of this space
Choosing instead
To color the center of our life
With refrigerator magnets and
Halloween costumes and
Glass vases weighted with light blue stones

And if we sometimes catch a flash
Of sunlight reflected off the whiteness
Briefly blinding
We turn away
We turn inward
We do not talk
As we plump the pillows
And sweep our hardwood floors

I have often thought
Deep in the silence of our night
When you lie quietly next to me
Of stepping into that whiteness
Of breaking the crust of the field with my footsteps
Of sinking into the sadness, marking a path
Of listening for its breathing
But I, too, turn away
Turn inward
And do not tell you in the morning
That I dreamed of snow

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Posted by on January 5, 2014 in Uncategorized


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