sweetest girl presses into my side curled into a tight balll, sighing in her sleep

the future isn’t promised 

tomorrow may never become today

the world is burning 

“rage, rage into the dying light”

NYE

black ants in the kitchen 

I didn’t go to dinner 

stayed home instead 

wiping down cabinets 

and counters with vinegar 

dropped a bottle 

full of water, cap loose.

mopped the floor 

dropped said bottle

quarter full, cap on tight

on my foot

spent late hours , wee hours

with an inconsolable pup

this is not poetry 

this is life

found her on the bed looking guilty, carrot unscathed

one, two, three 

slices off a carrot 

Her favorite, carrots 

car crashes, lost children 

empty cutting board

split seconds…

climbing walls

I slept askew, akimbo

in a shirt tangled, woke

to a cold nose snuggled in 

to the side of my neck

solidly sleeping after

terror unseen invaded

‘twas a night spent 

climbing walls

in her room, reading

most days, the past is the past

but there are pieces of me

bits that were………..sweet

I try to recall, try to reach past

gray eyes once were green

past bones cold from damp

to recall

other things press through 

Sister passed at fifty, burnt to ash

interred atop Brother who left at thirty …five?

his casket baby-blue: did Daddy choose that?

or his then wife? 

flowers of purple dark and light 

his favorite color, Iris, reminiscent

of when we all dwelt in a single place

I chose through exhaustion 

in our house, the youngest 

was the Forgotten, not the spoiled

the ever Forgiving, the One 

left behind, the One who calls

the One to call, the One

who sits with death and buries bodies

fake it till you make it

if it feels like depression

it possibly could be

not the definitive “is”

just the spatiality of “might”

the only thing known for sure

is the pain and pressure 

behind gray eyes and sinus

the throbbing that spreads

to ears and upper mandible 

a body sore when waking 

get out, show up:

fake it till you make it

or die trying