Grief Written

I told him one night when we were both drunk in my kitchen, That when I was a little girl and I would have a particularly bad nightmare —  I wouldn’t yell out for my mom or leave my bed to find her. Gathering myself up the best I could I would imagine in my mind a wand, that I would wave around my bedposts. I knew that it wasn’t real but in those moments I believed in my own magic just enough to wrap it around me. When my little brother would have a nightmare and he would come into my room with his pillow and blanket, I would let him sleep on the floor — even though he snored. The night before he was married I thought of this, How not even a year before he had knocked on my door and slept in the twin bed across from mine after a nightmare — despite being well into our 20s.  In the kitchen — when I told him about my magic wand, his brow furrowed and he looked lost for a moment. I thought of how his mother would trail her finger from his hairline, down the bridge of his nose, ov...

 I have sympathy for the devil.  I think anyone who has loved me isn’t surprised by the sentiment.  It’s been said that Lucifer was God’s favorite angel, seated at the right hand of the father. Lucifer means “morning star” or “light bearer.” God created an angel, whom he loved. It is written that God created the world in seven days, On the first — he created light. Then as it follows is the sky, the earth and all its glory, the sun and moon, animals of the air and sea, land animals and human kind and then on the seventh day — God rested.  God created Lucifer, whom he loved, and subsequently created light itself of which Lucifer was to bear. I imagine as God rested, Lucifer eagerly pinpointed the sky with stars so as the sun went down — there was no total darkness.  But then there was the Great War in Heaven And Lucifer was cast down. He didn’t fall —  His father, whose first act of creation bore resemblance to his favorite son, cast him out. God does love t...

 The tarot card readers say “It’s an eclipse, it’s the time to let things go.” So for the first time In all my sentimental history I attempt to burn the letters But as I drive up the canyon I cannot find a place to burn them  And return home After so long Leaving the letters in the front seat I won’t bring them across the threshold  It means nothing I assure myself, nothing at all