Caves

Grief 

carves out a hollow space inside,

a cavern, if you will,

of walls that echo back

the howling wind of longing loss.

And you never knew before 

that a depth so deep could contain you,

(no, you never knew

the depths of you)

or that the the constant drip of your tears

will build gemstones in that place, 

eventually,

in that place that once felt impossibly dark,

and cold,

and empty.

(in fact, it might always feel that way.)

Lot's Wife

I don't want to be that woman

who stood in one place

reduced to a pillar 

of yesterday's dried out 

uncried out 

tears.

I refuse to look back

 in bitter regret

to the place from which 

I am walking.

There is a bright horizon above, in front

if I get my head straight

before it's too late, 

before nothing is sweet or soft 

in me,

but

just only some crystals of salt.

What would actually happen

What would actually happen if you let go of the worried thing 

your restless fingers have worn a hole through, put it down

and walk the other way looking at something else, the something

right in front of your eyes?  

     Could disaster come 

even if you didn't, and would you be able to stop the inevitability

of a plan hatched pre-you, or are you all there is, and where

the decision stops?

  What would happen if you open up your sweaty palms

 and let the things you care about breathe?

 If you did what you said you would do,

before you knew what you were talking about, 

before you knew too much?  

     I'll tell you what would happen.  You might realize that 

the hand that held your own when you forgot to squeeze back

was actually bigger, much bigger, SO MUCH BIGGER and 

gentler, so gentle, than you ever could conceive.

All the real and imagined things would still happen just so, or not, 

and the kids

would be 

just fine.