Along the cliff’s edge
A ravine of lies,
And the man
Are all she wears,
They are her only cover
From the icy rain.
Listening with her to
The waves, crashing below.
The thunder booms!
The lightning strikes!
The ground quakes!
She is afraid.
How could she dare to love?
He cannot save her
His love sent her to the edge,
He cannot touch her
Or she will jump,
So he stays behind her.
She weighs the choices
While she plays with her life,
Balance a thing of the past
She walks along the cliff’s edge.
I didn’t realize that the last box would be the heaviest,
not until I stumbled with it down what is now your drive.
Tears flowing unchecked were blocking my common sense.
Crying, remembering when our desire was alive.
Shoved the box in the van, slammed my door closed.
Then I checked the garage for things forgotten.
Taped to your toolbox, I saw your favorite picture of me
the one you promoted from your wallet
to the dashboard of your race car, a Vega, 1973.
My image inspired you as you raced
or so you used to say.
I guess the week you yanked me from the car
Was the week you did so well, driving your Vega to first place.
The house looks deserted, the grounds are unkempt and unloved.
Summer heat has burned the lilac bush I finally grew and turned my roses brown.
Flowers struggle among the weeds and most of them have died, died to set me free.
The angel trumpets and morning glories alone proclaim
that once I touched the earth around your home with love.
I bend over to rescue the flowers setting dead in plastic pots,
and then I set them back down.
I can’t save what’s been killed with neglect, I know. I know. I’ve tried.
I knew what would happen when I stopped the watering that kept them alive.
I carried out the last box tonight as the sun was going down
It was so much heavier than the first,
the weight really caught me by surprise.
I patted the morning glories goodbye, watered them with tears.
I climbed up into my van, remembering your words the day you bought it.
As you handed me the keys, you softly said,
“There, now you can take all your stuff the next time that you decide to leave.”
I shifted into reverse, held down the brake as I laid my head on the steering wheel to cry.
Crying because; still, I love you, crying for all that we lost.
The last box was the heaviest, so much heavier than the first
How could I have known that a box of fancy glasses
Would weigh me down the worst?
Am I holding on or am I letting go?
I can’t tell anymore.
There is no roadmap back to
where I used to know.
Now that you’re gone, it seems…
I’m mostly missing the woman
love erased, she, who used to be.
I feel shards of her remaining
I just can’t seem to find the glue,
did it perhaps slip into your suitcase
and fly out of my reach with you?
by Grace Christine Doucette (My mom)
It’s cold in New England, ice is King
The flowers are sleeping, waiting for spring.
In my heart, memories are deep
Waiting for old promises to keep.
I planted seeds of love early in life
They’re not dead, buried by strife.
Just waiting for the big thaw when
I’ll see blossoms as never before.
The rose in a grandchild’s smile
The bloom in a hug that stretches a mile.
Yes, my seeds have sprung into life
And bloomed in my garden
Through all the icy strife.
Life goes on, it never will end
When you plant your seeds
In the heart’s of your children and friends.
A young girl picks up a drink
Her fear and pain melts away,
She found a magic cure
She found a best friend today.
She takes that friend with her
Where ever she has to be,
The friend gets her through,
But she’s no longer free.
Hiding her new friend from the rest
It’s true, somehow she always knows,
That this friend is dangerous
But caution, to the wind it goes.
Years slip by, and some begin to see
That she prefers this friend,
People criticize her drinking
And other friendships end.
The bottle becomes her center
It directs her every move,
But what once brought her relief
No longer seems to soothe.
The friend who helped her through
Now cripples, and blinds her sight,
Alone she drinks and she cries
Dreading tomorrow, hating tonight.
She gave up all her friends
To keep the brown liquid close,
Now she has lost them all
Betrayed by what she trusted most.
She reaches out to God
During a desperately lonely hour,
He sends her back His love
He fills her with His power.
She ends the deadly friendship
Stands strong and free again,
The black fog begins to lift, and
Sobriety is one fight, she does win.
Jeanne Marie, 1979
I would live without you if only I could…
Wanting you, needing you, I hate it all.
Tears fall each night
Sometimes they fall
all frigging day too.
I walk the floors
I climb the walls
I turn it off, I turn it on
Who I am depends on you.
Spinning in circles like wet lettuce
shedding its water
I try to shed my love for you.
I don’t love you
I don’t love you
But, oh God help me, God help me
Because I do…I do, I do love you..
Should love make me bleed?
Should love leave me
Hungry for your touch
Empty with a desperate need?
Now I know my long saved passion
Has simply gone to waste,
Thirty-odd years of being loved
Loved just enough so that
I didn’t pack that old suitcase.
Loved you for so long as
Every night you turned away
With one excuse or another
They all sounded the same.
I don’t want to hurt anymore.
Down to a choice…nothing or pain
Your words turn me inside out
And I go blank…shut down
I have no words to say.
I am no longer in the game.
You ask what about all the years
That we have been side by side
And I ask what about today.
What about me?
How long can my hurt hide?
Dreams of running, death and blood
Is this love or is it quicksand?
All I know for sure is that
I’m up to my heart in mud.
She was young, she was free and she was whole
slivers of brilliance shone from her unfettered soul.
He drank from her radiant spirit; yet, his thirst was never quenched.
She became bone-weary, drained, wings tangled in his barbed wire fence.
Held the wire cutters in his right hand; should have set the fallen angel free.
Alas, his left hand was wrapped around the memory of what she used to be.
“Dead or alive,” he shouted into the night, “you are mine, you belong to me.”
She was drained, she was drained. ‘Twas not a whisper of resistance to be heard,
unless you counted her quiet tears, her anguished moans of pain so absurd.
His darkness disfigured a creature of sunshine and light,
but her prison was formed by her need to be loved by him each night.
Her own imperfections allowed her to be nothing and
her soft brown eyes gave out no telltale reflections.
It was her scars that bound her, forgiving, the elusive key.
She was content to wander aimlessly about his house each night
dreaming of the day that she would find the courage to set an angel free.