Tag: Substack

Sometimes, I Just Need Poetry

trE

An audio lamentation for Jernee and this battered world of ours

Jernee Timid’s paw prints, courtesy of our vet’s office. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Sometimes, I Just Need Poetry by Tremaine L. Loadholt

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.

horde escape & on our terms

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Two poems shared on Substack notes

horde escape

you will most likely never find me in
a horde of people looking as though
I’m in a place that carries comfort.

If I am, I assure you, I’m forcing my
body to be at peace, to try to enjoy my
surroundings. I’m never at ease in
those situations.

they are few. they are far between.
the path leading to them fades away
more as the years pile on to my age.

I am not who I used to be, I’m a
new person in an old body.
I’m both familiar and unfamiliar, and this
is what intrigues
you.

on our terms

the most difficult thing I experienced
with Jernee during her decline were the
lucid moments. I feared becoming
looped into their trap.

she wasn’t the same, and I knew
that, heart & soul, but sometimes my
baby would look up at me as if she
recognized my face, and I’d be putty
in five seconds.

“it’s only going to get worse” became the
anthem in my home, followed by, “this
sounds like a brain tumor,” and with
each regressive instance, I was
reassured…

I cut death to the quick, and
offered it a seat at the table.

if it was going to take my baby, it’d
be on our terms.
but was it, though?

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.

catastrophic love & have we come far enough?

trE

Two poems shared on Substack notes

catastrophic love

his blithesome
demeanor captured
me.

I lost all of my
selves swimming
in the depths of his
eyes.

I was disruption;
a distraction…
we bombed before
we could elevate.

catastrophic love.

have we come far enough?

although I am the
eldest child, if this
were the 1500s or
I was of royal blood,
my arrival to first
would mean
nothing because the
next born has the
package; male
primogeniture cut me
to the quick.

imagine being the
first, most
dependable, always
responsible, and a
doer without being
prompted, yet your
earned position in
life depends on
what’s between your
legs.

that’s not a life I
would have enjoyed
living, but when I
assess modern
times and the fight
women constantly
battle, the system
is still rigged to
embrace the least
educated, the most
aggressive, and the
overly-praised, so…

how far have we
come, really?

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 my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

the carelessness of the few & a griseous morning

trE

Two poems written on Substack notes

the carelessness of the few

if millions of breathing beings
proscribed evildoers and those greedy
enough to shake down the poor and
oppressed, we wouldn’t be dancing
in a pit of flames, trying our best to
outrun the burn.

but here we are…
walking on lit coal, struggling to stay
sane, and clapping away fire that aligns
itself with our truths.
we had the tools to succeed politically,
however, many were afraid to see how
well they worked.

and now, we’re all
drowning in this
inescapable Hell.

a griseous morning

morning isn’t sashaying over to
me as it’s done the
past few days.

it appears sullen,
griseous, and
downtrodden.

I don’t have the
words to heal the ache it feels, but
I offer a few anyway.

it wanders around my home,
anxious to see which one of us
will break first.

I’ve got news for it…
it won’t be me.

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 my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

solistitial & jujitsu’d out of love

trE

Two poems written on Substack notes

solistitial

a solstitial event was
the day she left
silence at the foot
of our friendship.

there is nothing
more heartbreaking
than a woman who
doesn’t know her
heart’s desire being
capable of crushing
the heart of another.

now I have a
timestamp of when
I learned the phrase
“I will never hurt you.”
has an unspoken addendum:

“unless I’m afraid of what
your love can do
to me.”

jujitsu’d out of love

I’m at a point where
my mind is debating
with my heart to
not have it jujitsu
it anymore.

it’s tired of fighting a
fight for lackluster
love and never
winning.

I used to be a
strategic runner–
hurdling over dead
weight and con
people.

now I lean into
obstacles with heavy
artillery stationed
around my person.

I handle war much
differently in my
older years.

I know how my
battles often portray
themselves, and I
fight smart not hard.

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 my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

finding my way to the light & greedy, nasty men

trE

Two poems written on Substack notes

finding my way to the light

the day nearly got
away from me, and
I remembered I
hadn’t poeted yet.
hadn’t penned
something that
would set me free.

although I feel
dislimned, I press
forward and find my
way to the light. I
will not give myself
permission to break;
I’m allowed to bend.
I’m allowed to
stretch.

but I damn sure
better not break.

there’s much work to
still be done, and
those of us with
stones as strength
know we have to
build ourselves up.

we are the crumpled
up pieces–rock hard
and steady. when the
weight is heavy; we
bear it with the
world hanging on to
our hearts.

the blood of our
ancestors wave in
our bones. we can
hear the maker
calling us home.

we’re getting ready.

greedy, nasty men

I believe TACO feels
that keeping all
exculpatory information against
him from the
public can stick.

but people will
remember the
moment their hearts
broke. people remember losing
trust in human beings.

it is the pain that
connects us all–the
suffering that binds
us. from starving
communities to
burning cities to
the coal-filled hearts
of men who call the
shots…

we will remember.

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 my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.