i used to write poetry
broken lines, imperfect syllables, heart so hard so imperfect so fucking bright like the blue sky trying to break through and taunt a hailstorm but instead instead instead it's just ice not the rain we needed to cool us in a heatwave just ice tearing through my well-tended garden stealing the blue sky steeling the blue eye and ruining me
plant trees for graduates and watch how they grow
my mother's tree stands
at my great-aunt's former home taller than us all
my sister's tree shades
disappearing middle-class (our childhood home)
and my tree shocks me
evading the ash borer with grandiose grace
thank you for the “no.”
as phallic as this lupine (allium ignored)
i will learn from this
(things i tell myself at night) and grow a sagebrush
it will bloom purple
(you can’t see my true color) and you can’t taste it
yet, here it blossoms
as beautiful as the home you constantly loathe
i know. i know. i…
you don’t see what i see. stop. but god. how it hurts.
these rare teen moments
everyone together; joy minus jobs, school, stress
summer days beckon
drinks on rooftop patios (mocktails for the kids)
the cold creek calls us
with shade, icy refreshment from the sun’s harsh heat
and these cousins bond
under summer vacation (our home is their heart)
i’ve tried hard for grins
as hard as they are to earn (teen reality)
her party stayed dry
despite stress, rain, tent set-up (smiles al around)
a rare, masked smile
his first roller coaster ride our life’s hills, splashes
winning with her lemonade even as a teen
my oldest’s footsteps. good steps. intentional steps.
this is not a moon.
this is a lunar eclipse. (Super-Flower-Blood)
and she’ll be gone soon.
(no early-morning steps). and i. am. eclipsed.
shadows of loss win
the afternoon shines bright. (we still have our moon)