Tag Archives: mourning

Embraced By The Sun

Over the Rockies from Denver, as winter came,
and the snow began to fall, wispy and delicate,
down to San Diego, to the sea she never saw.
She was a high school girl I loved so tenderly.
We’d talk between classes, at lunch, study hall.
Sometimes she’d hug me. Like being embraced by the sun.
All those years ago she was killed. I watch the light go out.
No reason at all, other than someone else was cruel.
They said God made her a martyr. It was a lie after the fact.
Still, the ache hurts and is sweet and is filled with venom.
The memories of her touch softly, and leave burns on me.
I promised I’d see the ocean she never saw, wanted so badly too.
I sit on the beach, morning cool, salty and harsh wind coming.
I see a girl there by the water, wrapped in a blanket, looking at sunrise.
I don’t know if it’s her, or my broken heart’s wish for a better world.
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Séance By The Ocean

It’s the first of September, chill creeping in,
stars gleam without a care as we now begin.
The woman, behind her dark hair, whispers:
“The angels, demons, are all estranged sisters.”

I brought the Angel Michael medal she gave.
One of her many treasured I made sure to save.
The woman clutches into in her tight fist, sighs.
There are only so many unclaimed miracles in the sky.

The woman’s eyes flutter, as the waves crash, recede.
I have learned no escape in drunkenness, sweetest mead.
I need to hear her voice, say goodbye, say: “I love you, still.”
With whatever angels listen, I will gladly make a deal.

The woman’s eyes open, and it’s her that gazes out her eyes.
My heart flutters and breaks, in this bittersweet surprise.
I take in a moment, as a smile comes, conspirital and wild.
The unburned spirit of a woman who kept freedom of a child.

“I love you.” I say, tears flowing know. “I love you. I see you in stars.”
“I see you in old Grail Romances. I see you in the sanctuary that was ours.”
And the smile becomes wider, but sadder, and I she kisses my cheek.
A sweet eternity passes between us, no need now for us to speak.

And then she is gone, and the woman is back, and the medal is gone.
Her empty fist opens, and she strokes my cheek, so far from warm dawn.
I stay on the beach as the woman leaves, watching stars and ocean churn.
What I do now, what I can dream now, what love remains, so difficult to discern.

Hope. A Wedding Dress

A gone to seed part of town,
by the water tower and interstate.
Thrift store beneath the overpass,
spend afternoons, our little money.
We made wonders of these scraps,
we made our light from these rags.
We found treasures of The Word there,
and we found a place to be as one.
One day, you found a wedding dress,
pure white and chintzy lace, faux pearls.
You came out of the dressing room,
looking like an angel, most wonderful girl.
Always said, you’d never marry,
never had a family, never lead that kind of life.
Seeing you there, I wanted you to be wrong,
for it to be you and me and on my wedding day.
And the years have passed, and I’m not young,
and you were taken from us, ripped from us.
You never married, and neither have I, will I.
The winter is just a reminder of light passing by.
I remember you, in that wedding dress, so bright.
Smiling, so happy, so lost in some dream, of hope.
It wasn’t our wedding day, and the world’s moved on.
But I remember, waiting for the hammer to fall.

An Ocean Once, Long Ago, Now Almost Dry

A ghost in this worn hoodie, blue and deep,

               An ocean once, long ago, now almost dry,

               Like finally my eyes, that she is gone and lost.

 

               A scent, faint, of her sweet perfume, the funk

               Of her sweat, the smell I knew holding her close,

               That was sweet too, as was her washed, in bed.

 

               Still a pack of smokes in the pocket, not what did

               End up killing her, just bad luck, bad day, bad shit,

               And the cigarettes are stale, just rags of wasted death.

 

               I wear it in this cold season, walking home on dead

               Streets and boring stores and empty skies, keeping

               Her close, feeling her spirit in fabric soaked with her life.

 

               But it becomes me, sweating in winter, and my scents

               Chase hers away, and the cigarettes will eventually be

               Thrown out, and it will only be me, me chasing her out.

 

               Even ghosts are worn down by tides and seasons and life.