For Chrissy
we shared the same blood
connected by decades’ love
your beauty still lives
you had a great light
shining throughout your body
who will carry it
it will never fade
as long as we speak your name
you will always be
moments with you sashaying
through my thoughts — they come
in waves.
you — a golden-hearted soul
given to us for the time allowed,
still smile as brightly as
you did here on Earth — in my heart.
I feel you.
I know you’re here.
and this acknowledgment of comfort
pushes me through another day.
I hope you see me trying to
hold up your light — trying to
give these gifts I have
while I still can.
one day, I will not write
about you but that will not
mean, I have forgotten you.
my next door neighbors
moved on from this place–rent’s
too high, and they’re too young to
keep struggling without a
sense of purpose.
both of them chose to
move back home for a few months,
maybe a year, maybe more.
I’m going to miss seeing
their smiling faces, watching
them mature even more
as the years gather themselves
one after the other.
who will I be saddled with
next door now?
will they be compassionate?
will they be respectful?
will they be okay with dogs?
so many questions, and the
cleaning crew hasn’t even
started preparing the unit
for walkthroughs.
settle down, brain.
settle down.
Easter is the 42nd, and
I’m still alone–still afraid
to love.
I get tired of hearing,
“it’ll happen, just give it
time.”
“the one will come along.”
“someone is out there
for you,” yet no one has
showed up.
and even if they did,
how ready am I?
fear swims in the pit
of my belly, making it
its home, but I
still want love–still need love.
is that possible?
had an E-Vite for a hybrid
baby shower to which I
E-RSVP’d for the virtual login
option.
However, work is
offering overtime and time
and a half plus other incentives
and the inevitability of a
significant amount of extra coins
just seems so much better than
me fake-smiling and ooh-ahhing
to the passing around of
baby things I’ll never touch.
it was odd . . . E-cancelling
my E-RSVP, but I have life
riding me like the hag,
and having a lovely nest egg
to feed it is simply the
better choice.
the clerk smiles at me–notices
my hospital-themed hoodie,
and makes small talk.
I can hear the click-clack of
my shoes as I pace the viscid
tiles of the floor. I hate that sound.
I think to myself, “Who’s cleaning
this place?” and I wonder if
I should purchase the
Payday, Mr. Goodbar, and roll
of tissue I have in my hand.
A Cornered Gurl 
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