Bruised Morning Tuesday Poem
I hide my loved wrapped in a fist
on the other side of a fear dream
inspired by H.P. Lovecraft, and a cheaper brand of
spaghetti-sauce.
(I don’t like it, but even now we eat like
depression era children, what’s set down before us
in the vague fear that soon we may need
the calorie bath.)
What you said, last night, justified my horror
in me, because
I could still feel joy from the underbelly of your despair.
That’s why I offered you your freedom,
and when you kept batting it away
forced it upon you, the violence evident
in your heaving grief.
How I hate my own capacity for joy
in these circumstances.
But let’s not be so dramatic, eh?
In the morning there was cat barf, laundry and
radio talk show hosts.
Tragedy is impermanent.
I’ve explained it before, that acute
emotional-ness is not personally sustainable.
Whether that’s true, I took a victory lap
the day I discovered I don’t have to
wring out every bit of me
for love.
(Learn that.)
We live. Nobody deserves it. We don’t particularly un-deserve it.
I think you deserve it, and sometimes you should enjoy
the crush, the ache, the shatter and soar, but
preserve yourself by measures.
Cus we’re called upon to care
in certain instances,
and that should be accommodated.
You don’t need to bleed my heart dry
or stress your soul thread-bare,
because these still have some use.
*tilts hat*
Warmest of wishes. No more dying today!
Let’s clasp hands, and be insensitive enough
to live.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Stop & Wander 
What a beautiful poem this is. Just perfect, really. Thank you for opening up and sharing it with us.
These things don’t happen when you make spaghetti sauce from scratch. I’m just sayin’.
I don’t spend a whole lot of time reading poems, but I’ll spend a whole lot of time reading yours.
a thread-bare soul–somehow I relate to that concept.
Sounds like someone needs a standing 8-count. I doubt his trainers will let him come out for another round. It’s just this sort of moxie that I so admire in your work.
I read this poem yesterday and could not think of a single comment that would be worthy.
“No more dying today!
Let’s clasp hands, and be insensitive enough
to live.”
This stuck with me.
I read the poem again today.
I am moved by the interweaving of such intense emotion into the tapestry of the mundane.
I love the way you bring sanity to the dramatics of love here.
This one made me smile in remembrance of that girl I knew back in our teens. Some of your others poetic musings have made me wince, given me twinges, and made my soul ache because they were not YOU. Or the You I knew way back then.
“No more dying today!
Let’s clasp hands, and be insensitive enough
to live. ”
That’s the girl I knew. And I am glad she’s still in there…Under all that….Growing up that has happened over the years.