First published October 5, 2008

Elizabeth's sister
isn't the same anymore.
Her husband went to war.

He came back whole
but aching inside.
He sits in shadow
and cries.

"There's no one left." says he.
"I'm still here." says she.
"I can hear their pain."
"Your son wants to play."
"This isn't what he should see."

"We want you at home. Please,
don't leave us alone."
"I'll be back when I can."
The door closed.

Elizabeth's sister
isn't the same anymore.
She sits in shadow.
And cries.

First published Sept 15, 2006

"We write, in part, the words we need to read."
.... Rebecca McClanahan, Write Your Heart Out

My words are my children,
nurtured from conception to maturity,
from thought to page.
They are what (all) I have to leave behind,
to let someone know I was here.
The mark I leave.
One proof of my life's worth.
They talk back to me, make me laugh.
They explain me, comfort me, as I grow old.

there will be
a time
when we die
that others
will say
it happened so fast
so unexpected.
when in truth
the soul had been
crying
for ever so long
praying for comfort
for healing the wounds
that drained
the life
from the life
that could have
been saved.
But no one
noticed. or heard.
or cared.
How sad.

Originally posted: May 31, 2008

Let's pretend
we're an old
married couple,
Still in love and
still liking each other.
We know the
sweet spots
and the soft spots.
We can still find
the hot spots.
I'll cook your
favorite dinner.
We'll watch a
favorite movie.
…what do you mean,
it's getting late?
When did you join
a bowling league?

If I told you

I'm just a little

bit drunk

as I'm writing this

will you think

less of me?

It's been a long time...

for a lot of things.

Including drinking too much.

I miss the other things

more.