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A Tribute To My Dad

Thank you for always supporting my art, and poetry. Loosing you was the hardest things I've ever had to go through. Love You,

Grief: Welcome

The Exhaustion

My body is tired and aches

I can’t tell if it’s the rain 

Or if it’s sympathy pain

Of rigamortis the stiffening of my bones 

I’m taking a page 

From a therapist book 

Letting the grief envelope me 

A baptism of what comes after 

After the death of a love one 

I expected grief to be sadness 

A fluidity but it feels like stones

An aching of bones 

A heaviness that weights throughout your day 

It makes words stumble out of your throat 

No flight light songs 

Even my bed 

Does not embrace me enough 

To ease the exhaustion 

My soul feels 

As it lingers In this body 

Grief: Text

Bones Fastened
From Wood

 I can’t tell if the enemy that lives in my house

 bare bones fastened from wood 

If it’s the rocking chair 

or the bed he slept in that was not his deathbed

 the bed that was nestled in the living room that I assembled upon finding out the diagnosis 

the bed that made him more comfortable

 the bed he would get better 

in the bed that sat in the living room for three months after he died

 This was the bed my sister and I slept in shifts 

The bed my mother slept in, 

The communal piece  as we observed his last day

No my feelings of Discretion is not with the hospice bee that came and went so quickly that only had one purpose that was the inevitable end.

 I wonder if it’s the bed that was before his deathbed or if it is the rocking chair that rocks so with rythmatical  throughout the years 

Undisturbed by bad news that still sits there lacking its purpose 

That mocks me at night 

When I still hear footsteps and movement from the other room

And its only purpose is a reminder

Grief: Text

Bodies of Water

We are just bodies of water 

Oceans of people 

Souls our currents 

Cycling at different stages

Like the rippling waves of ocean

Hoping our current doesn’t stop 

Iv seen the trickle new life

With such innocents and promise 

We are just bodies of water

In our prime there is 

The passion 

Felt between lovers 

When there's fire in there sternum 

Steam seeping 

Through the mouths 

Of words on fire

Before their love 

Is extinguished 

We are just bodies of water 

Iv see the undertow of sickness 

I watched you slowly


I promised you’d we’d go to beach 

When you got better 

Just after a few more treatments 

Then when 

You no longer needed a wheelchair 

As the air in our house slowly grew stagnant 

We are just bodies of water 

Memories of you 

Are mixed with oceans and chlorine


Of you are always summer

We are just bodies of water 

I hope when you evaporated

Instead of becoming lost in clouds 

I hope 

Your soul lingers 

Between the smell

Of salt 

And the breeze of the sea

Grief: Text

Three Times I Felt Gaia's Comfort


It was the day after you died, I was driving 

Stopped in the midst on the road at dawn

Standing before me was a buck 

We made eye contact for a only a moment before he dashed away 

For some reason I knew it would be okay 


The day you died it was summer 

Sunshine wrapped around me like a blanket 

I answered the call 

When the news hit the warmth was interrupted 

A light breeze passed through 

I hope you died peacefully 

For some reason I knew it would be okay 


I saw your soul leave your body 

After months of fighting 

I knew it was coming like the rustle of a slow train

 I was caught in the tracts

Unable to free myself 

The moment you died in August

The sky opened on a sunny day 

Downpours so unusual 

Accompanied by a rainbow 

For some reason I knew it would be okay

My religion isn’t a language of the earth 

A spoken tongue of Gaia

 Yet when she speaks to me 

I will listen 

For some reason I know it will be okay

But I have come to the conclusion 

That there will be a day 

Were my world stops turning 

Carve my epitaph with love 

May you know

Gaia has taken me home 

For some reason you’ll be okay

Grief: Text


I think about my fathers youth 

The dancer he was 

I wonder his thoughts that packed 

Into ballrooms and the back of clubs 

I wonder what colors the rooms were 

The lights that spun around 

I wonder what went on in his mind 

When he met the love of his life 

If he had any idea of what would come 

As the sound of his heels hit the dance floor 

He was in his mid twenties 

When he met my mother across a dance room 

Then his late twenties when they married 

Started putting together 

The pieces of their life 

My perception has changed 

On how old he must have been 

When he started the foundation 

Of the life he would build 

When I wipe down mirrors 

And in my reflection I see 

That I am now 

My fathers age

Grief: Text

Nuclear Explosion

Some diagnoses 
Mushroom clouds
Surround the perimeter of your house 
Because the bomb just dropped 
Causing a Catatonic state 
Unlike most nuclear blast 
When the news hits 
Your nuclear family 
Radiation isn’t the fall out 
But it seeps through your walls 
Manifesting itself 
As a toxic savior 
Savior that poisoned 
The cancerous part of your love ones 
In a race 
No one wins 
Your feelings of powerlessness 
Putting faith in gods 
And medicine that will fail you 
All you can do 
Is hold your breath
And try to not 
To Choke in the fall out

Grief: Text


The chef was take out 

And church food 

Joy drained out 

Through the windows 

Like heat in the winter 

Hospital bed 

In living room 

Guard rails up 

Hand holding 

Tear stained face 

Is what hospice looks like

They tell you people can get off it

Recovery can come to some 

Brain tumor Grew

Unlike the new memories

 we would have with him 

There were no last wishes 

No one last hurray 

Mobile dissipated 

In a matter of days 

Before we could do anything to stop it 

Grief: Text

Good Morning to You

The song of my childhood morning
a sun salutation 
from father to daughter. 
You woke us up every morning with a song 
made the day seem less scary 
when it starts with a tune. 
Sat us up on the counter 
washed our faces and brushed our hair, 
hair in high ponytail. 
Good morning to you, 
a song only sung in my father’s voice 
any other octave unfamiliar.
No, my father was the only one 
who could greet the morning 
and make you feel like it was greeting you back.
There are moments now 
in the stillness of the mornings,
the mornings that start without a tune 
that I now linger in bed. 
Wishing for afternoon to creep through the curtains 
I wonder if I was ever a morning person 
or if I just like mornings 
because of you.

Grief: Text

Hands Ontop of Graves

There are moments 

when I sit beside you,

I put my hands through the blades of grass 

I take in the air 

I wish could fill your lungs.

I hold my breath for a moment 

and feel what it’s like to be you, 

motionless and breathless.

For a moment 

there isn’t a cloud in the sky,

I hope you see it 

from the other side.

There are moments 

I run my hands on top of the blades of grass 

on top of your grave 

I hold my breath

wishing you could hold yours.

Grief: Text
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