Thursday, June 3, 2010

This is an Angsty Place to Start

I haven't written poetry in a long time. I stopped about the time my cousin passed away; life got too crazy, I let the things I enjoy in life go. This is only a draft, but I figure starting with the angst, the death of my cousin, is one way to overcome what I have let eat away at me for more than a year.

Untitled 1 (for Skye)

most often I parked at the curb
used the front door
avoiding garage
and room where you stayed—

nine months pregnant
terminally ill—
cancer of skin
metastasizing to your heart and breasts
every tissue
except brain—

and I remember a day I brought In-N-Out
for lunch—
the mistake to walk past your room
to not park at the curb;
and you smelled grease
and meat,
the perfect browned bun.

all you probably wanted:
to eat carcinogenic meals
a room and a week for
settlement into an end
of colors and smells and tastes:
no tainted hospital
stark white
and bland—
these days, for you
became days for everyone else.

Sigh.



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