Lily-Livered-Loving

I should never have landed
On this planet where love reigns
Like a wicked witch bent on
Chaos, upheaval, and destruction.

Constantly shivering in my shoes
I think of loved ones at all hours,
Especially when I should be sleeping.
But do they ever think of me?

As a child you do not know
That loving your aunts, uncles, friends
Will one day leave you holding
A heavy, stinking bag of grief.

If I had known how love would be
Then, as a child, I would have
Trusted less, loved tenuously
Or, probably, not at all.

Better to save oneself, I think
Love's too scary, pain overwhelms,
I am afraid to see another day
ANd fearful of being left behind.

Again Last Night

As I lay awake again last night
A question inserted itself
In the fabric of my sleep.
"How do you know someone loves you
If they never call?"

Tears insisted on falling.
My spouse eventually awoke,
He explained it all away
In his own mind not mine.
I finally went back to sleep.

When I woke again it was
After a dream in vivid color
My artistic side had taken
Me to my safer universe.
Black is gone and color rules.

So many disappointments
Life stifles my will to live on
Love is all to me yet painful.
I had hoped to share my whole life
With those I've always loved.

My arms feel emptied, withered.
Fear makes me shiver as I wait
For that last loved one to leave.
Worry pervades my world while I sit
Wondering if you'll arrive for lunch.

Jennifer Taught Me

Jennifer taught me to be her mom.
I was young - no experience or training.
And they just placed her in my arms!
So, I took her home, and she taught me
To feed her at her own timing.
She taught me to use clean, soft
Clothing head to toe whenever
She blurped, or had a messy feed,
Or when I got her ready for a
Good night's sleep in her crib.
She told me never to walk away from
Her while she sat in her carrier
Because she did not wish to fall!
When I tried to bathe her one sunny day
Outside having read about a sunbath being
Good for one's babe, she was patient
And did not ridicule me. My mother did, tho.

And when she was forty-one years old
She taught me not to try to urge her
To come back into my life, not to tell
Me what was angering her and causing her
To stay estranged. She asked the sheriff
To put me in jail if he could because
I emailed her, that being my only way to
communicate with her. She taught me
How frightening jail would be. She even
Taught me to dislike police. She taught
Me to trust no one not even myself. She
Accused me of endless abuse and I could
Not remember doing abuse! She taught me
That my little sweet baby no longer
Wanted to teach me. I was on my own
In a lonely world of someone else's design.

Nana Moon Baby

When she was a baby
She was drawn to the
Moon showing at quarter
Size and yellow in the
Dark sky high above her.
She would point
Her baby index up
And yell "Nana Moon!"

And I would praise her
For her sheer joy
And connectivity to the sky.
My lovely baby girl.

This baby grew up
Became her own girl
And pushed me away
Like yesterday's old
Banana peel brown, rotting
Stinky and no longer
Useful to her at all.
I could not understand.

Because It was I who praised her
For her sheer joy
And connectivity to the sky.
My lovely baby girl.

My arms held her high!
My mouth said, "Yes! Nana Moon!"
Her experience her joy was mine!
I thought I was giving her
That magnificent moon!
Was she not grateful?
Did she not credit me
For sharing life's treasure?

Now, I sit and rock her
In the rocking chair of my heart.
I press my lips upon
Her curly red hair
and let her rest her
Warm face on my breast.
Lest she feel cold or
Sadness all alone, I am
Always here, waiting, always rocking ...

How Long Grief?

My body has been signally me
It is tired it keeps saying.
That is understandable
Due to physical age and
An amount of stress
I find debilitating.
So in these days or
Months or years
That I have left
Will I ever be free of grief?

The answers are in the hands of
My daughters whose names
I run through Google
Peoplefinders, Intellius
For any word or pictures
Of their lives now.
They hate me for a reason
Or reasons they will not
Share with me except to
Say... endless abuse ...
And I do not know this
Abuse, known as endless.

I do not know my transgression.
Like the man convicted
To spend his life in prison
Who claims - and is determined
To be - innocent,
I now spend my days thus.

Broken Pieces of My Heart

I walk along a patched old sidewalk and
Pick up small pieces I find along the way
Pieces of my broken heart, tiny, cracked, old
Worn out beyond the counting of years.
And I wonder how to fix these pieces
They seem beyond repair or hope, they
Lack the energy they once held for loving.
Now, I hold my hand upon that center of my
Chest where the remains of my heart reside.
I try to keep what is left there intact
Though, if I looked my hand would come away
Stained with red called grief, pain, agony.
I do not comprehend any way to mend this
Sad, old, broken heart exeplified by these
Broken pieces along the sidewalk and what is left
Inside my lonely chest. One step at a time
I make, trying to miss the broken black places
Of a sidewalk with too many hard memories
Of its own to deal with in the hard light.
I cannot find a way to heal.
I cannot find a way through the memories.
The very memories I once screamed that
They could not take away from me...
Keep me lying awake, wet-faced in the night.
A mother should not have babies who
Are victims of thieves in the night.
And the babies were of ages where they
Were fully able to be cognizant
Aware of being ripped away from me!

Oh Brother! Thou Art A Bother!

You I have loved and watched over
Since about the time I turned three years of age
Are a worry to me know as we both age.

I worry about your health
While you worry about losing your hair,
And your youth, and your money.

I worry about your ability to keep working
To pay your singular way in the world
As you try to keep it all "juggled and afloat".

I know that I cannot take your troubles from you
And place them on my own full plate,
And you would never allow this to take place.

Why could you not stay a sweet, happy, little boy
And why could I not retain my great energy of old?
Then, I could just shake my head and laugh at you!

You art a bother, yes you certainly are.
But, at the end of these days I am glad for this:
You art my brother, dear and beloved all these years.