The Loss

The feeling of loss is a dampness that creeps into your bones.
You can tell a day or two before it arrives
by the stiffening of your muscles.
Once it's there you cannot dislodge it
nor can you placate it with futile
thoughts of better times.

It knows all those tricks and is
onto you.
The fingers in your left hand start to ache.
It's a slow moving affront to your system--
the sadness moves up your arm
and settles in your heart with a
triumphant vise-like twist.

The pain does a dance--
A morose jitter bug with feet fast asleep
and continues it's slow ascent up your body.
It sits in your mouth and moves with your tongue
Your words become clouded and thick
until you can speak no more.

The loss has set in.

working girl

My fingers are tapping the keys, halfheartedly.
My brain has shut down
and my eyelids feel like lead.
Ah, to be working again.

The Dust We Leave Behind

It's strange the things we leave behind.
discarded.
one pink shoe, it's partner
no where to be seen.

Empty bottles, old stuffed animals.
Pictures of people we used to know
and wonder where they'd be now.
dust covered text books from 9th grade.

Somehow we thought we might need them
someday down the road.
So we held on like the dust,
entrenched in every crevice.