crying
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The weight of the August trauma Doesn’t come like the cold monthsIt’s not like the ocean that takes me under inDecember Nor like ice that stabs through me mid January It’s a slow Whoozing of the head Hazing of my sky Clouding of my lungs Im sweaty andUnwitting of the ToxinsScrewing with me Something unhinges…
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I am the colander that I carry around Holes unplug-ableEye sockets,Uncontrollable.I swear I will ceaseMy salty sadnessThe momentMy well runs dry.But in the quiet of the nightI always seem to find something moreTo cry about.So I’ve resolvedTo be the colanderThat I carry aroundSo my tears can simplyLeak right out of meBecause the longer I keep them…
Healing Birds Fly Again 