Worst Case Scenario

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I am paralyzed

You are no

Longer with me.

I can no

Longer breathe.

My soul

And my future

Wrapped up

In your delicious,

Warm, strong arms

Is now crushed

Under the weight

Of what never was.

I can no

Longer fathom

A world with color.

I will never

Again be whole.

It was always

You.

Now it

Isn’t.

And I am alone,

Dark, longing,

Hating that I

Ever allowed

Myself to be

Sucked into

Your web of lies.

Knowing you

So well,

You would think

I would have

Known the truth.

I did,

I just

Turned my

Back on it.

I am drowning.

I am overcome.

I am without ME.

I am without YOU.

I am without LIFE.

Ode to an Alcoholic

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He’s life’s bitch,

A slave to his bottle,

Fucked up, sad boy,

Everything is

Not his fault.

He’s life’s bitch,

His job sucks,

His Windsor

Isn’t cold enough,

He’s all alone.

He’s life’s bitch,

Darkness,

bleak and drunk,

No shower for weeks,

The stench of

Depression.

Holding onto the walls

As you stumble

Around the house,

Drink until you

Pass out every

Fucking night.

Childhood Sundays

Cold, cement steps with an

Equally cold railing attached.

Long breaths as I climb the them

Slowly, carefully in

My winter boots.

Open the door,

Smells of grandma’s Italian sauce.

Old Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra songs

Play in the background.

It is warm, small, yet inviting.

The scent of light perfume

As my grandma hugs me tightly.

A feeling of being safe,

It’s the safest spot in the world.

Singing along with the music,

Loud voices chatter about

The latest family gossip.

There is a clock that chimes each hour,

Like a diligent soldier standing guard.

Football game in the other room.

Men are shouting at the ref’s call.

Everyone sits down to eat.

Food is love.

Food is family.

Lots of love and warmth,

Security, safety.

Some of the only consistency

In my life.

Happiness to be

near my beautiful grandmother.

Comfort.

Boisterous and loud talking, laughing,

Having fun with each other.

I don’t want to leave.

Remnants of my childhood

Linger there.

My happiest days

As a child were spent there.

Pain of the loss

of days gone by.

For Antonio Miguel

Photo by William D. Wright

He’s the best thing I have ever done,

My son, my light, my life, my choice.

When he was born my light almost went out,

But I knew I wasn’t going anywhere; not without him.

When I look at him, I still see a three year old,

Innocent, naïve, still the smell of baby about him.

He is what has saved my life many times,

I know not what my existence would be if he weren’t born.

His voice is like the dawn of a new day,

Filled with hope, unconditional love and comfort.

I know I have shaped a beautiful legacy,

When I look into those beautiful brown eyes; much like mine.

For my Dad

Image by William D. Wright

Quiet man,

Always smiling,

Always joking.

All of my friends loved him,

Wanted their dads to be like mine.

Hardworking; never complained,

Slivers of metal in his beard

From the foundry.

Never let anything stop him

From supporting his family.

He always found a way.

Carried me on his shoulders

Everywhere we went.

I was “daddy’s girl” for a long time,

Until my teenage years.

Then it was like he no longer

Understood me.

Didn’t know how to handle me,

Or my wildness, my urges

To break free of him, of authority.

Always the protector,

Always where it was safe.

Recliner, TV, a beer,

And sunflower seeds.

Saturday Night Live.

 

Never yelled back

Loved us even when

Me and my sisters

drove him nuts.

He’s proud of the things

I have done for myself.

Sometimes I don’t think

He knows what to do

When I show strength.

 

I find him

in awe of my survival.

Tired, missing his parents

who passed away.

So tired, body aches

From a lifetime of

Hard, physical work.

Never complained,

Fixed our cars,

Mowed the lawn,

Shoveled the snow.

No, girls can’t do that.

Sometimes old fashioned

In his ways of thinking.

Loves to cook for everyone,

Happy when people

Enjoy his food.

Sauce, salsa,

He’s proud of himself.