Late Night Poems

Vol. 5

Late Night Poems is a collection of the invasive and thoughtful for the week of 2/13.

I'm sorry. 
I am sorry that your sorrow has become so
                                   
                                   large

that we had to rally around you like midwives in the spring. 
That the birth of it was difficult.
That it was uncomfortable.
That the way of it was about

                                  " feelings"
                                               like pain. 

But it won't change.
Only you will. 
We do.
And—it'll feel a little
                                 smaller, maybe even, 
                                                                    a little better.

for every

                                 small 

                                 death that beckons you back into the void,
breathing back into you until the retching fills your lungs: 

                                                       with the smell of azaleas planting a brighter sky. 
I am sorry. 
But, 
       I won't be sorry for staying
while you scream at it. 

Love in practice
Feeling love is hard.
Expressing it is harder.
The practice doesn't make sense
in the face of a storm that does not feel: 
the light kisses on a forehead.
That does not see: 
the path ahead.
That cannot hear: 
the quiet rocking back and forth as she says: 
everything. will. be. okay.
 
9 lives died                                                         
Cats have nine lives 
apparently.
Yet, 
       somehow I keep dying more often than the cat could even 

try
to die. 

He only stares.
Waiting for me to come back,
as if to say, no.

This isn't the right time
with a gentle purr 
and a sharp claw in the chest.
kneading me.