Sometimes you don’t think the bombs are so bad.

A guaranteed ending, an excuse.
Gone the crying, gone the long hours when you should be vacuuming, cooking dinner,
after you have left the children at school.
You don’t know what you cry for, but you can feel it
just beyond your splayed fingers. Continue reading

Boxes of Darkness

After Nora Meiners

“Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.”
Mary Oliver

He filled this box with every moment
he exhaled your name with cigarette smoke.
The fumes solidified into a black ball of clay
shaped like the first time he ever called you
beautiful. You don’t roll the ball in your fingers,
it is too soft and your hands are too clumsy. Continue reading