waiting for the sun of summer

March will mark brother’s passing 

twenty-two years hence 

now it’s Birdie’s gotcha day

one year of sweetness 

April would have been 

sister turning sixty 

if she hadn’t passed at fifty 

now it’s Birdie turning three-years

May would have been 

brother turning fifty-nine

if March hadn’t happened 

now it marks my two-year

leaving 

mulligan please

learning to swim

I sank grasping the sides

in a deep end darkly 

touching forks to sockets

live

in sense searching 

for a sunny space

for all the flowers 

of deep hues hoarded

in the hours

of disassociation

since

wide-eyed and WTF

 denial is

a dog woke

 tool early 

by an alarm

everyone put Baby in a box

without self-labeling 

others will apply their own

predeterminations 

to me, most people are puzzles

little pieces learned 

here and there

to most people, I am X, Y, Z

turning inward

some nights, she presses

neck sore awkward

inertia shifting me aside

toward 

the edge

and I wake

startled 

in near collapse;

other nights I wake

to her gentle curl

the base of my spine

warm, her little nose

lifting 

as I turn inwards

I am what I am

Probably 

Gonna

…fuck some shit up…