Tag Archives: death

Midnight Calls

My body is fragile
Crack me open
at the seam in my
Ribcage, like
a damp wafer – watch
the strawberry blood
cake in exposed air.

How many midnight calls,
and dinnertime
Interruptions
can a heart
take before the valves
wear thin
And the tell tale tingle
moves up my arm?

Doctor’s orders:
I can’t lift
this weight
Give me something lighter.
Second thought:
Don’t give me anything at all.

do not take

The earth moves
Did you know?
It pulses with intention.

Birds free fall in aerial feats
The hive hums
The dry leaves whisper
their ancient chant

And we,
We move, too
Building, working,
fighting, dreaming –
not always with intention.

But noise, always noise.

The earth knows –
do you?
Our performative toiling
is Being,
a loud inhalation,
a boisterous sigh

We tangle fingers
and join
the chant “We are alive”

Do not bring the silence.
Do not take.
The earth, though
It Takes.

This is the one truth
we were born knowing.
We move – before
it’s too late.

In memory of Judy Neumeyer

untitled

Let me die
in the summertime
by a window, with
the warmth, pushing
through the fragile skin
of my eyelids

Let me die
in a quiet
room; with the
tea kettle on
in the kitchen and
the laundry spinning,
pulsing like
blood through beating hearts.

Let me die
with a cat
at my feet and
a hand holding mine and
a smile tracing
my lips
And the sunshine –

Oh, please let me
die in the sunshine.

two post it notes

Someday, when the world begins
to darken, I’ll
walk in the silence
of early morning, peering
into empty shops with
cataract gray eyes

And I’ll remember being
young, moving fast, skin
smooth like a new bar of soap,
and wondering when I would
make it.

I’ll know then, there
is no making it.

Child, you’re already home.

At 4:00, I’ll eat my
dinner, just the basics –
salad, potato, tea.

And I’ll look out the window
near the garden and watch
the early robins feast
until my eyelids flicker,
slowly, closed.

The final act, not a drama but a lullaby.

a poem for Advent

Light of Christ

She held it cupped in her wrinkled palms,
across her lifeline, it burned
And fragmented and grew.
She peered in, squinting hard,
Hands to nose
Stars igniting in her eyes.

She clenched it then, tightly
Pushed it away with the force of her now
elongated arm, like a sigh, or fainting,
or a fervent dance.

She didn’t let go.
Afraid, though, of
The Revealing:
over-exposure,
Conviction – no trial necessary

But it hurt, holding its
heat, its heaviness
She shuttered her eyes

Release.
She knows it’s gone.
She can see the sun with her eyelids pinched tight.
A whisper, a knowing – she musters the courage to
Look.

She is enwrapped in a gown of radiance
frothy and feathered and laden with silk,
A light that imparts light
A glow that reveals, not her own:
griminess, despair, darkness.
The light of truth and love,
The light of Christ encroaching on:
decay, vanity, deceit,
Death.

Embraced, ignited,
A girl on fire
Enshrouded in the revealing and
Holy Light of Christ.