Tag Archives: grief

Swing Set

   There was that day you wore your hair in pigtails.    You were thirteen. Pigtails and a pale blue summer dress. I think the dress was new.    My mother had died three days earlier.    You and I … Continue reading

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Roseblood

I could feel the music of a slow future dying inside me. And the past very much alive, like shimmering beatific flowers, like luscious night-thistles. The past is a changeable feast. Except it is a feast that eats and eats … Continue reading

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Boneyard’s Way

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. Whether or not they help is either of primary consequence or none at all. Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard in order to reach the garden. This is what I … Continue reading

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The Dream Outward

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. It helps. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it makes things worse. Or keeps everything the same. Which is a different kind of worse. Anya I long to reach you only because I … Continue reading

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Communion

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn:    I put on my headphones, turned on my music and hit shuffle. I eased into Nina Simone’s version of “I Shall Be Released.” I wondered about the state of Anya’s soul, and then thought … Continue reading

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Fade-In

We are not here to tiptoe through the garden at night. We balance on the edge of a slow-whirling blade, a smooth silver plane with teeth, belonging to a star, unnamed, its heart a fiery proof and fade of joy … Continue reading

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Cradle

Every cradle begs of its dark a stairway to star grief and love.

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Elegy

At the risk of harbor, emptiness pools where hearts marvel in sync with grief’s ruins.

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Morning

Scars worn out to fade, old records played in small hours– Dreams chased by morning.

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Wither

From morning to noon, the roses gathered to grieve the loss of their bloom.   (Photo by David John Lotto)

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