Losing Home

This was meant to be written--I found the pen--now its past-driven…


We’re losing home, where we used to stay
Can't walk into the room
Where mom and daddy used to lay
No more chances to touch that rose bush thats damned to stay
Even though Momma Rose tried to kill that bush
In the past, now decades away
(it still don’t sit up straight to this day)
No more memories triggered when I walk into the kitchen
I remember how our new addition made me feel like we should’ve been on How I’m Livin’
No more stomping and running up and down bare stairs
No more can I see the pink room where I said my prayers
(and kissed a boy there…)
But we’ll still have our memories—
Me and my sis would stay up late
Telling stories, eating candy and recording our original songs on cassette tape
Doing all sorts of things that would make our Mom mad
Like listening to that Richard Pryor record our dad had that made us laugh
No more hanging in the basement where the ceiling’s too low
Something our cousin would always forget—he’d hit his head
Sending me and sis into a row
No more harmonicas in the China cabinet
No more rubber bullets lodged in nasal cavities
No more hiding behind the fridge from Momma’s belt
No more hands of Five-hundred being dealt
No more trips to Indian Acres and flea market trips
No early morning stirring as she prepares for dialysis
No more dust piles left swept neatly in the hall
No more hugs from the one who reassured me despite it all
Were losing only the physical evidence of this home
But losing her and it so closely reaffirms that she really is gone…

Queen Poetess B Copyright © 2009 All rights reserved.

Counting Time

...yet another day goes by...

Each day of the past two weeks
I count to the hour just before
I tell myself that two weeks ago, this day
She would live one hour more
It has been hard for me to deal with
But I guess when I grieve, this is my way
I wake up each day knowing
That I will not hear her voice, or see her face on this day
For only in the confines of my mind
Has its echo and vivid imagery never ceased to exist
So maybe each day that I count the time
Reminds me that it is for this long, without her
I still breathe-- I still live.

Queen Poetess B Copyright © 2009

Vivid Visions

Yesterday I did not post-- but does not mean that I did not write! I have been mulling this one over for a little while; a combination of pleasure and pain. Just an FYI on the photo... it is entitled: Reflections of a Queen

She entered the grocery store
With her little boy on her right hip
As she stared into his eyes
Her husband's eyes shone back perfect

He sat in the front of the cart
As his Mommy strolled the aisles
And his little tiny hands outstretched
Toward all the most colorful of items

He beat on the puffy bags of granola
His amusement and pleasure evident in his smile
"Mommy!", he laughed
While swinging his feet happily and wild

She smiled at her son
And lightly kissed his cheek
Gathered fresh grapes
For this time of the year, they were sweet

Realizing the need for more applesauce
She continued her grocery shop
Several containers were needed
For her son liked them alot

Constantly complimented
On the beauty of her little one
For a blend of this woman and man
What a comb-i-na-tion

This miracle created in the eyes of the Father
With a husband who loved her so
Now done at the register with payment
To their vehicle they would go

He sits quietly and content
Talking to his favorite Bear Ben
After loading up the car
She carefully fastens him in

She pulled onto the street
Thinking of her home and her husband waiting there
Ever wanting his love and presence
And family time to share

But, to her surprise, she was unable to reach the
end of the block
Her car rolled to a hard stop as her ears registered the familiar
ring of gun shots

Ahead she saw a man run
His faced blurred because it happened too fast
The silhouette of a young female steps off into the street
and out of the grass

Though the young Mother knew danger to be nearby
She couldn't help but run to this woman's aid
Within a second, she was by her side
She stared in horror at the gaping wound in her stomach the bullets made

She covered her mouth in shock
Staring at the horror with wide eyes
She knew from that day forward
There would be nothing that would be able to remove
her dying cries

A pool on the pavement ran red
No longer was a it black
What the young Mother wouldn't give
To rewind time a few moments back

It was at this time she too began to feel warmth and pain all over--frantically thinking, "But I'm not the one!"
So she ran the few feet back to her car
To check on her smiling son

As his laughter filled her ears
Her eyes darted to the woman on the ground
Then she bolted up in a deep sweat
She was at home in her bed once reality had been found

The warmth and the pain, still however remained
In the bathroom the light would reveal
That the puddle of blood had not been fabricated
Its remnants on her gown were cold and real

Her son, not yet born-- very little time to go
His life was now lost, never his face did he show
She cried out in agony for the smiling son she had just kissed
He had come, and he had gone
Already, he was missed...

BLF 4/17/2009 ©