The birds’ church starts again promptly at 7 pm, and everyone has their place.
I walk the dog–her pointy ears rise at attention. Can she feel their melody? Does she appreciate their harmony?
We walk to pass the time listening to heaven’s gift to us on a Friday evening. I’d gladly gift nature my tithes.
Another year of writing a poem a day for 30 days has come to an end. It has been a test and a trial, but I succeeded. Thanks for being here, beautiful people. See you next year for NaPoWriMo!
One of the many text message exchanges between me and Chrissy.
just when I thought I was having a decent span of days in a row without breaking completely down, I swiped through some photos in my phone and came across a screenshot of a text message from one of my greatest loves, and the tears piled on like never before.
I wanted to lift myself up from the chair and summon relief. my heart is in a million pieces and it’s going to take time to put it back together again. I am jigsawed, an abandoned puzzle with no box for storage.
her daughter–my beautiful little cousin, keeps up with me, sends “I love you” messages from time to time, and “How are you” greetings and I am holding on to her as hard as I can. eleven years stand between us. I have memories of her mom she’ll never know, but I share them–in pictures, with words.
I see her now through WhatsApp message exchanges and videos, and as soon as I am done feeling every inch of her presence, I cry. she is so much like her mother–such an incredible radiance fills the room. I get lost in her ramblings–awed by her talents.
my grandmother calls to thank me for her copy of October Star and the first thing that leaves her mouth is, “Tre, you look so much like Chrissy,” and I can’t find the words to acknowledge the fact. Moments later, I pull “Everyone said that” from my soul and I let it linger in the air that filled our pauses.
it is a hard thing to look in the mirror and see the person you loved so much staring back at you, but you can’t call her, can’t write to her, can’t send her a text message– can’t do a damn thing but let life continue being life.
the hump is hard to get over, and I wish I wasn’t heavy on the struggling end, but I’m trying. God knows I am. and when my overwhelming days hit me, I have to slap on my big girl pants and move through the hell of it because the one person who talked me down from a high ass cliff isn’t around anymore.
and never will be. and that is the hardest pill I have ever hard to swallow.
Jernee, sitting in the car while I gathered our things so we could leave the Vet’s office.
Aging Has Its Place (a one-lined poem)
The cataracts have fully-formed, her hearing is sub-par, the cystic tumor on her back, right paw coupled with her age aren’t the best candidates for surgery, yet she continues to give me joy and affection on the roughest of days; she always forgets her pain for me.
A Cornered Gurl 
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