Grief Written

In between all my thoughts  I can feel myself trying to justify even rationalize  all the anger, resentment and pain  you cast onto me. I didn’t deserve it, To pay a price for a debt I didn’t incur. A pound of flesh, Or two or three, The sum of my heart.

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, over his li

 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 the angel that He created, but

 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

 Does it feel alright to not know me? Can you feel the time stretch between us, The pop of each stitch  As we pull apart the fabric of our souls I once carefully stitched, mended and repaired. Sometimes I reach for the comfort of us, Only to find The back of my empty closet.  If you manage to find it, Perhaps underneath your bed or thrown in the back of your car — please let me know: would it ever fit someone the same again? Or will it always fit just a little wrong? Overgrown and otherwise 

 And I resist the urge  Even as I lay on the bathroom floor I don’t reach for the idea of comfort  To say “something has happened and I need you.” Because it’s relief is temporary  In the way you have been  And what is need anyway?

 There’s a line by Shakespeare that I think about often, “Hell is empty. All the devils are here.” It’s from the Tempest. God has been evicted from the corners of my mind, His rent was long overdue —10 percent paid with no return  Called upon over over over again, Only to collect on my pleas but abandon me in my need. I knew he was gone long before I was 17-years-old in the backseat of a car. Maybe religion is a pyramid scheme. Even as he’s abandoned me, I still dial his number often — perhaps testing his inbox’s capacity. If the number still goes through, or if it’s just a dial tone. This is something I’d never admit to anyone who’d bother to ask. Holding up one of the devils with one arm and helping him smoke a cigarette with the other, Another told me “The only thing stopping you from crossing over into atheism is fear.” Fear has been bedfellow since my stepfather had moved into our home decades ago, But I do not tell him that — this is a party after all.  The cigarette has neared t