Diagnosis

only one month in
the word came in the room
and she felt the burn
of loss before the fight began

unknown still
ungrown, wrapped in soft
flannel just gazing
into her face
and already
broken

What could she do but,
try and cry
and look about
and whisper
Why?

A road of hope
with odds recited
uninvited reality
knocks each time
new skin against her lips
she dreams of bliss
of still knowing her child
as she grows old

Blindfish

When anger bubbles up
what should I do?

let it grind
my insides out
a limestone cave
a dripping certainty
stalactite stuck staying
threatening from above
but rooted in fear

instead I could
 release
the drips
into the trickle
the stream
the river of
blindfish
and hope
I swim faster
than they do.

Words

Been on hiatus from my self
and stuck my mind up on a shelf

Not an ounce of new creation
just a brow creased in frustration

Oh words have danced across my page
of joy and fears and hope and rage

Frozen there and all alone
even I can't read my own

words