Friday, March 30, 2012


"Begin" by The Wailin' Jennys

Hey, maybe the timejust wasn't right to hang on
When are you gonna learn
Sometimes things turn instead of turn out
Hey, when are you gonna stand
Stop looking over your shoulder
Me, with a head full of words
And not one useful expression
Hey, let go
We, with holes in our hearts
Were whole at the start
Our story began
We film ourselves 'til the end
Try to suspend our lives in the dark
Hey, when are you gonna stand
Stop looking over your shoulder
See, there's a sun in the sky
And a moon that will take us til morning
When are you gonna stand
Stop and begin this moment
Hey, let go
Let go (will we be the ones to understand?)...

"April is the cruellest month" --TS Eliot

Spring used to be my favorite season.
Its charm is lost now.
Spring is pain.
Spring is remembering.
Spring is losing.
Spring is leaving.

Now Spring is turning my face and inching forward one step at a time.
So I inch and try my hardest not to look back.

Sometimes I turn back for just a moment, like Lot's wife.
I am a pillar of ash.

Five years of struggle and strain.
I put my foot down in the Spring...and that step was so powerful; it jars me still.

Three years of that awful ache. I am reminded each Spring that, no matter how far I think I've come, I'm still one of the walking wounded.

Two that I miss...I miss so much that I retch and curse.
Two that are gone and will not return to me again while I have breath and light.

The two.

One held my hand and loved me and shared my days--he knew my Name.
And he dissolved before my eyes.

The second...well, the second slowly filled me up for nine sweet months and was gone before I awoke.

Spring used to be my favorite season.

Sunday, March 25, 2012


Warm. He was heat,
A little radiating handful.
Pink and perfect,
Except for the mouth that hung open and odd.
Dark tendrils still wet, plastered to his tiny scalp
After his first—his only bath.
A lullaby of apologies,
Then the gentle pressure of his form,
The curvature of his spine
Was lifted out of my hands.
He was gone,
And my arms hung limp beside my treacherous body.