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I opened up a mess of worms when I looked into my poetry folder. I will post a few of my heartbreak poems.
Softness
In some songs, they say love is soft.
Not true. My love for you is strong.
You wanted my strength,
But you needed my love.
Learning to be strong was easy.
In other songs, they say love is strong.
But you, your love for me is soft.
You gave me your trust,
And I was tamed by your love.
Learning to be soft was hard.
2/26/08
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40 NIGHTS
For Tim
It rained again tonight.
Six long weeks of rain
Since you were well and strong.
Not a storm gathering,
But rain that falls like tears.
40 nights I’ve watched you try to sleep.
You toss. I lie awake
Until you rise to let me sleep.
And every night I miss you.
The sky is gray on black.
40 nights I’ve watched you learn pain.
Your robust cheerful health
Sluicing away. I see you
Every day and I miss you.
The clouds obscure the moon.
It rained again tonight.
Six long weeks of rain
Since you were last my You.
The ark of us holds tight
But tears still run like rain.
October 2002 Written when Tim suddenly became unexplainably ill. I watched pain dim the light in his beautiful eyes with each passing night.
November 2002 Diagnosed with severe rheumatoid arthritis, began chemo drug Methotrexate. He is still unable to sleep because of the pain.
November 2008 He still takes Methotrexate and has daily pain, but he is coping.
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This one is about infertility and trying to have a baby. I don't like the form and it is clumsy, but it always gets to me.
28 DAYS
I wake at 3 a.m.
Drenched, I can not know
If this is tears
Or sweat from fear
Or both.
I hurry to a barely begun nursery
To hug my sleeping child.
Thick, flowing blond curls
Fall over my arms as I,
Foolishly missing my child’s embrace
During the long night,
Crush this phantom child
To my heart.
Fantasy fades. Morning light.
My beautiful golden child
Is illusion/elusive.
The pink light of sunrise
Mocks me like the single
Pink line I see – again –
On my useless little test stick.
February 1997 Written about a heartbreaking miscarriage
and being pressured by the fertility doctors to begin the
process of trying to conceive again while still grieving.
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I've also got some equally cheerful poems about my mother's cancer and father's death. I'll spare you.
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