My daughter was nine months old and in her high chair eating baby oatmeal and peaches when she aspirated. When her head bowed down towards the tray, my husband thought she was just tired and put her in for a nap. Shortly after, I arrived home from work and was surprised to hear that the baby was napping. "Five o'clock isn't nap time!" I said, not in anger but with concern, and I turned away from him and bolted up the steps two at a time.

Lifeless is very different than sleeping. Instinctively I knew to grab her from the crib not knowing how difficult the next few days would be when I saw her blue lips. My husband was right beside me when I looked up for help from a God I didn't know I believed in, crying out, "God please let her live. Take me instead!"

"Start the car!" I said. Both of us ran from the house knowing our only hope was to get to the hospital asap. As I grabbed the car door with one arm, holding on tight to my lifeless daughter with the other, her body jerked forward. She vomited, then cried and her cheeks turned a beautiful color of pink. "We're taking her to the emergency room." I told my husband. "How do we know she's okay?"

The doctor said, "There is a lot of fluid in her lungs. Let's take her to Albert Einstein hospital where they can probe the lungs if necessary . I'll order an ambulance."

Three days later after many tests and observation she was going home with us alive. Taking a deep breath, remembering the offer I had made in that harrowing moment of life and death I wasn't sure if God would let me live to see her grow up. As I write this story, 36 years after the fact, I am very grateful God didn't take me up on my offer.

Don't say these words unless you mean them, I'll give you one chance to take them back.

Don't say that to me unless you intend to stand by it, one more chance? Take it back.

It's too late the damage is done. Your words stained in my memory.

I'm already damaged and broken and not yet capable of healing.

You said you would protect my fragility, yet you shattered it even more.

You said we could be broken together.

Now I feel like I'm broken forever.

#heartbreak #damage #love #poetry #freeverse #pain

I cried every tear until my eyes burned

I wailed every scream I had until my throat stung

I rocked back and forth until my head throbbed

I blinked and my world changed

I rocked and prayed it was a dream

It wasn't a dream

I cry more, I scream louder, I pace now. I ask the universe what it wants from me. I get no answers, only more demands from the earth that my feet stomp on.

The wind sweeps around me. Surrender.

#poetry #freeverse #life

When my job feels meaningless

my life aimless

and my heart empty

I wish that I could be

a weed

springing up through cracks in the pavement

thriving against all odds

no matter where I start

always finding my way

to the sun.

But I'm beginning to suspect

that perhaps

I am something else entirely

like a flowering bulb

planted deeper than most

taking longer to break through the darkness

of uncertainty

but when the time comes

blooming brighter

and fuller

and more earnestly

than the weeds that sit

just

below

the surface.

First

Fresh

New

Beginnings

Starting

Over

Clean

Alone

Alive

Refreshed

Again

Rinse

Repeat

Forgive

But Don't Forget

#Thankful

When a song is stuck in your head

the best thing to do is to play it

over and over

until it is out of your system.

What do I do, then,

when you're stuck in my head?

I can't play our old conversations--

they've all been deleted.

I can't play your voice--

it's a blank space I can't fill.

The second best thing to do

when a song is stuck in your head

is to get a different song stuck there instead.

I want to drink wine and laugh.

Laugh at the world for trying to pretend that it's not falling apart.

Laugh at people for pretending to be important.

Laugh at myself for pretending that I'm...anything. Or anyone.

Instead I sit in somber silence

that sometimes turns

to weeping

Weeping for the broken pieces of the world

war

poverty

racism

hate

hate

hate.

The drinking softens the edges but sharpens the blow. My mind is in a comfortable haze, enough for words to flow. But not enough to comfort me. Not enough to make any of this okay when the buzz wears off.

I want to be okay. I want the world to be okay. I want the fires to stop burning. I want the big orange man to take his little finger off the big red button. I want my house back, the one I grew up in, the one that's empty and freshly painted and carpeted and waiting for someone else to move in while I sit in my apartment with all these new, unfamiliar things that are slowly, slowly starting to feel like a home, but not Home.

I want to be okay with the state of my mind. Guess I'll just drink about it.

Coat yourself in merangue;

Light, fluffy;

substance made of nothing.

Envelop tart and tangy,

with a foamy barrier.

Enshroud in illusion to

conceal the

zest and bland

the bright.

Alone is the best boyfriend I've ever had.

He never complains that my apartment is too hot

or tells me I bought the wrong kind of almond milk.

He doesn’t leave his dirty underwear on the floor,

next to the laundry hamper,

seemingly out of spite but really out of obliviousness.

He doesn’t take up the whole goddamn bed

or use too much of my expensive shampoo

or stay up all night playing video games.

Alone only ever does

exactly what I want to do.

Alone never makes me feel lonely.

He makes me feel strong,

Capable,

like I’m queen of the world,

my world,

the only world that matters

when I’m with him.

But the second that someone else appears

Alone slinks away into the darkness

to be replaced by

Compromise

and his friends Guilt

and Obligation.

Alone tells me it’s okay to be selfish,

to take my time.

He lets me cry

without having to explain why.

I always miss him when he leaves

because no one else seems good enough.

But Alone can’t hold me when I’m scared

or make me laugh when I’m sad.

He can’t cook me dinner

or kiss my sleepy lips before he leaves for work.

He can’t hold my hand on the way to the grocery store

or water my plants when I forget to.

He can’t reach that tippity top shelf

or rub my aching shoulders.

Alone is wonderful

but maybe

Compromise isn’t such a bad guy.

When is that moment in which

We begin to turn away?

There's a moment, although vague

Life used to, Yes, used to be

Constant play, nothing but Play

Even the School day was once

Just one more part of the game

Learning, not having become

some stupid chore to be done.

What life pressures warp us so,

That we retreat from Parents

embarrassed of embraces

And then finally Adult—

among old friends how often

do we sincerely go to"play?"

We sit around

in slow motion

and just delay—

no longer sure

of what to do,

or what to say...