Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?
I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
I am working on a book of poems for Jernee Timid, in memory of her life and the incredible loss I’ve experienced. I am no stranger to sifting through poems; picking and choosing pieces that make the cut, and culling others that do not. These poems, though… something about not including them—the ones not making the cut, feels wrong—feels spiteful. I cannot explain it.
I wrote them during her life. I wrote them after she died. They all have a little bit of her wrapped up in them, and I can’t see myself not having them be a part of something as significant as a dedication to her time spent on earth alongside me.
The cover photo for the book is shown above. I decided to use a photo of her as a puppy, enhancing it using AI to give it a more cartoon-like feel, because the content that follows may or may not be easy to digest.
I have always written through pain—the death of my favorite companion is no different. I am writing through it. I will continue to write through it for as long as I need to do so. Jernee would understand that. Heck, The Little Monster might’ve even appreciated it.
There is a title (I will share it as time gets closer to the publishing date), and I plan to release the book in early February of next year, or toward the end of this year. It truly depends on how I feel. Who would I be if I did not publish a book of poems for the greatest love of my life? Not Tre, I can tell you that.
I will keep all of you updated.
Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?
I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
near the end, I think
my neighbor’s dog could
smell death on Jernee–could
identify she didn’t have long.
and every time I saw them
walking toward us, I’d stiffen.
my body would become a
tabernacle–solid and silent.
he’d sniff his friend, searching
Jernee for evidence of life,
and when he didn’t find it,
he’d whine to his mom.
it wasn’t until Jernee’s last
couple of days on this earth
that I realized Winnie, in his
own way, had already mourned
Jernee’s life.
he’d been greeting her death,
and I just didn’t want to
believe it.
Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?
I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?
I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
I hadn’t realized how poignant Jernee’s
death was until the people I love
started gifting me things that
make my heart smile.
Out of the blue, pieces of this
world made their acquaintance with me.
A book, a candle, a mug, some fuzzy socks,
decorative window ornaments, and so
much more.
How did that little four-legged creature
jump into the hearts of others
just as she sashayed effortlessly into mine?
To have someone pop up at the gig
casually ask for you, and then
unload a hug so deep it
touches your soul while handing
you a wicker basket full of what
now connects you even more to them
is love personified.
I didn’t have the words. I almost
didn’t have the legs to stand on
because the gesture had been a
sweet blow to my heart.
I wrapped her in my arms, thanked her
profusely, and assured her that
these gifts will never go unnoticed.
They are the divine circling us back
into each other’s line of sight.
Talking points of a loss heavier than
any I have ever experienced; a feature
film open for all to see.
There are only a few seats left
at the table of love… come one, come all
while there’s still time.
This friend is a former co-worker of mine. While I simply shifted back to a department where I previously worked, we are still employed by the same organization. I am now back to being patient-facing, and I no longer work from home. She still does. We correspond with each other regularly via Teams and text message; however, to see her smiling face this past Thursday, and to know just how special I have to be to her for her to tap into all the things that bring me peace and joy, lets me know that our friendship is forever.
Below is a YouTube Short of one of my favorite Spoken Word Poets, Lisa Marie Lovette, aka Seasoned Dialogue. The fact that she copped her book for me left/leaves me speechless.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
my baby’s prints came today…
her paws…
I’d been waiting for them
since the 12th of September.
a lovely sympathy card
accompanied the red pieces
of art, neatly tucked behind them.
every member of our vet’s office
signed it.
their words and names crowding
the corners.
I smile. I cry. I remember the
best part of my life
no longer exists.
I stand at the edge of
my kitchen, shifting on
the balls of my feet. I am
shaking. I tilt my head to
look at each print, and the
smell of Jernee wafts across
the room and lingers in the
hallway. she’s still alive
in me; she hasn’t let go.
or, maybe I’m still holding on?
Zumi pats at the glass of its
terrarium, bargaining for my
attention, and I rush over to
see what the fuss is about.
food? check. water? check.
I think it just wants to hear my
voice, so I call its name in
a sing-songy way to appease it.
Zu-mi, Zu-mi, Zuuuumiiii.
what a silly tortoise you are.
it looks up at me and then
walks with urgency to its
hidey-hole.
we all need comfort.
tortoises are not exempt.
our home is quieter than it’s
ever been. the tapping of
paws are no longer morning
gifts or late-night signals of
an impatient senior dog who
“had me at, hello.”
I don’t know what I’m doing
with this life of mine now,
I’m just mulling on—making do.
I say that all I need is work—to
keep busy, but I think I am
telling myself this because I
am afraid of what will happen
to me if I sit down and focus
on every passing thought of
a love that was the greatest
love I’ve ever known.
where will I land if I
give my heart permission to
break and stay broken?
is there a name for people
who are no longer whole
without the pets they spent
nearly two decades becoming
one with? I don’t like having to
answer the same questions
every other day: “How are you?”
How are you holding up?”
“What are you doing with
yourself now?”
I wish there was a perfect way to
say, “I am cracking and folding
into myself because somehow
I no longer feel safe alone
with my brain, heavy heart,
and dying soul. somehow, I
no longer feel safe in this
body. something is not right.
something is not right.
it’s more than losing Jernee,
it’s all the ick of the world
that is seeping into our
skin, making our veins its home.
we’re trapped.
so, sometimes, I just need poetry
when everything is wrong
around me, and there’s no
guarantee it’ll change.
I need poetry to help me
remember who… and why
I am.
Originally published in Poking the Bear’s Belly on Substack.
A Cornered Gurl 
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