Christmas for the Dead
In the graveyard
with holly and mistletoe
on old oak trees
bare limbs and tinsel
a celebration past sundown
paper snowflakes on headstones
and candy cane bouquets
that can’t be eaten by those with
missing fingerbones and teeth in odd places
and no nose to redden
from the biting chill of eve
but they gather and lounge
on hills that are their final home
to proclaim the festivities are for all
and to all a goodnight
Last Winter
ice webbing
a glass floor fallen
through thudding ear drums
driving choking breaths
borrow seconds
weigh options
hold for saving graces
the cold weighing
down
down
down
give organs pause
slow the trickle of blood gone bad
vicious is the water
speaking silent thoughts
goodbyes to those
not drowning
Crack the knuckles
at the knot
Tug the jaw
leave it slack for consumption
Gulp eggs whole
Thread chicken between teeth
Strands of sticky sauce
in the corners
and globs of rice on spoons
Molars press on bones and bread
Drink the wine and wince
at the bitter in cavities
and bleeding gums
Taste saccharine
songs of ice cream melting in
momentary pleasure
Plead with paprika
stinging of soup
and hunks of potato
in the battered pheasant
On the table
slice with knives and devious eyes
pork rinds and punishment
A bulk in the chest
begging for
one more bite.
I die a little each day
I breathe in and out even when I cannot
bear
the silence
I think of you often
I think of us sometimes
mostly in the dark
The day feels too delicate
to suffocate beneath the weight
of your going
You’ve gone
I sometimes think
you’ll come back to me
flowers in hand
a smile on your face
and everything will be okay
Until then, I’ll die a little each day
the Forest
there are whispers in these woods
they call
to me Breathing
sweet nothings
born from blackberries
and figs The promise of purpose
pomegranate seeds
mashed by molars
mystifying It’s alive
and breathing
though the exhale doesn’t
stop
and the air has runs
and the lungs don’t
e x p a n d
between trees
the metallic clicking
a painful
gurgling The mouth of the forest
opens wide
stealing air
blood
body
from my soul
o u t s t r e t c h e d am I
doomed to the final moment
a death rattle
Soulful
Autumn leaves in piles
at your feet I smile
whisked up in the chill
of bare tree limbs
regal in poses
possessing the spirit
with promises of apple cider
and cinamon sticks
knitted sweaters
with kaleidoscope jewels
and amber sap
on sticky fingers
finding their way to
comfort in decay
an annual dance
of those bewitched
by western winds
Fortunate are those
with the autumnal soul
