“Grief is a Mouse-
And chooses Wainscot in the Breast
For His shy House
And baffles quest-
Grief is a Thief- quick startled-
Pricks His Ear- report to hear
Of that Vast Dark
That swept His Being – back-
Grief is a juggler – boldest at the Play
Lest if He flinch- the eye that way
Pounce on His Bruises – One – say – or Three
Grief is a Gourmand – spare His luxury-
But Grief is Tongueless- before He’ll tell- Burn Him in the Public square –
His ashes- will
Possibly- if they refuse- How then know –
Since a Rack couldn’t coax a syllable- now
Let us play Yesterday-
I, the Girl at School-
You, the Eternity- the untold Tale-
Easing my famine
At my Lexicon –
Logarithm- had I- for Drink
‘Twas a dry Wine-
Somewhat different- must be-
Dreams ting the Sleep –
Cunning Reds of Morning
Make the Blind – leap-
Still at the Egg Life-
Chafing the Shell
When you troubled the Ellipse
And the Bird fell-
Manacles be dim- they say-
To the new Free-
Never could-to me-
“‘Twas my last gratitude
When I slept- at night-
“Twas the first Miracle
Let in- with Light-
Can the lark resume the Shell- Easier- for the Sky-
Wouldn’t Bonds hurt more
Wouldn’t Dungeons sorer hate
On the Man- free- just long enough to taste- Then- dolmens new- God of the Manacor- As of the Free
Take Not my Liberty
Away from Me-
Alter! When the Hills do-
Falter! When the Sun
Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One-
Surfeit! When the Daffodil Both of the Dew-
Even as Herself- Sir- I will- of You.“
– Emily Dickinson.
“If you were coming in the Fall, I’d brush the summer by with half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in balls- And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse-
If only Centuries, delayed, I’d count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers
Into Van Dieman’s Land.
If certain, when this life was out-
That you’rs and mine should be–
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind, and take Eternity-
But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin bee-
That will not state-
its sting.” Dickinson, “(If you were coming in the fall)”
I heard your voice today. I waited seven years. It was like I remembered, but there were some notable highlights
“Call me back.” “I miss you. “I love you.” ” I miss you and my boys.“
Every fibre of my being aches for me to be able to call you back.
I can’t even listen to all of this without sobbing.
I’m not going to listen to all of it at once.
I’ll take the tape
I will soak in your love
Until it becomes a mantra
Oh, how you loved me. How you loved all of us. The longing in your voice rips me to shreds.
It tells me how you felt. This, I always knew. I hate you for leaving me these voicemails. I love you for leaving me these voicemails. I long for you in a place where there’s no space or time.
My bones shatter when I hear your voice
My bones are rebuilt when I hear your voice
The answering machine stops. I didn’t call you back. Why? I was a kid. I guess I always figured there’d be another tomorrow.
I loved you. I still love you. I will always love you.
Thank you for fighting as long as you did.
Thank you for not giving up until I could say goodbye.
I miss the hell out of you.
I miss the way your hand fit in mine
I miss the way you laughed
How your hair felt.
I miss all the little things that I know I can’t get back in this lifetime.
I’ll see you again
This I’m sure
I just wish it was today
But today is today
And tomorrow is tomorrow
And what’s past is past
But to hell with it all
I want you to be here
But you can’t be
But you are
So I sit in my apartment
Look out the window
See the sunrise and sunset
And wonder about your view
I bet it’s pretty great.
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”