I found the first one

Heart extracted from her chest

Out in the garden

The second body

Sat rotting by an oak tree

Enjoying sunsets

Body by body

It was easy to find them

Following her clues

I had to wonder

Why did she show them to us

Why did she trust us

Seventeen corpses

Seventeen victims of love

Her collection of hearts

It was poetic

It was sensuous and dark

It was beautiful

Undeniable

Oh Sushi what have you done

It wasn't fiction

"Your death will be slow,"

He said in a voice that chilled her to the bone.

"But if you tell me a story, it will be painless."

She trembled in his gaze, her ears filled with the sound of the crackling log fire

In her beating heart, she felt it become her pyre

Accepting his offer with a small nod, she tugged on her mustard sweater

A gift from where times were better

Her mouth, dry from the anxiety,

Began a tale of fantasy

Once she began, she wouldn't stop,

Talking night and day, like a fizzling pot without a top

Her words became tapestries,

A rusted key,

The feel of velvet,

Of beautiful maidens bearing chipped red nail polish

She spoke and spoke until the clock broke

Only when the prince made her pause for his scribe to copy the story did she pause

When the man of curly hair, round glasses, and pale blue typewriter stopped clicking the keys,

She returned to the point of the story

Days passed until her tale ended

Waiting for her soul to be taken,

She heard applause

"Wonderful, wonderful!" The prince cried

He declared that the girl would not die

Instead, her life of hardship became one of luxury,

All she needed was her ability to tell a story

The pair would grow close

The tales they swapped became the foundation of a home

Each time your memory comes to mind.

I light my torch to set that bridge ablaze again.

I have no need to cross and revisit.

you showed me time and again.

There was nothing for me there to begin with.

Sylvia Plath said, 'Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.' I have seen people get their medicine in line, pills that get swallowed while being under supervision. I have seen girls stay out of jail by being hospitalized, their preference over a cell. But it's the same, just for one you need $100,000, not for bail, but because "doctors bill separately." They saw you for two minutes and decided to give you the medicine that makes them the most money.

I once had two therapists and one was just for anxiety. I was terrified I'd randomly start screaming obscenities. She said, you just wouldn't do that, Alison. I stared at the paintings on their walls, wondered how fake watercolors don't bleed all over the floor too, like my wounds.

I'd say I'm a survivor. I get up and put my jeans on one leg at a time, brush my teeth, my punishment is lingering one day longer. I breathe and I am underwater.

She laid out my hospital bills on my bed and asked if I felt that was how much I am worth. It's hard to come back from that, to feel whole after being put in a wood chipper.

I come back, always, to Sylvia Plath - I think of having children, think better of it. It's just an endless cycle. I pour a cup of coffee and cheers the many people, the ones who are paid to cure, and the ones who suffer. It's hard, this being alive, but so is dwelling on your place in the universe.

There is a treasure box, in it is everything I have ever lost,

opening it however, comes with a cost.

I could seek my dad's sense of humor,

but attached to him are the visuals of realities that to others were just rumor.

I could look for my husband's beautiful eyes,

but they are surrounded with how I feel not having gotten to tell them goodbye.

I could look for my Grandfather's gentle nature-

but it's glued to his cries as I carried him to the house after finding him; with that razor.

I could find my Grandmother's LOVE in just a second, I know it-

but it's welded to smiling at her eyes as she died, and I was horrified but couldn’t show it.

I could search for a time I felt loved by my mom,

but it's more likely I'd find in a ring box- a nuclear bomb.

I could go way back to my first love's laugh,

but I know when I'd hear it, I would also hear that gun blast.

I could look for my best friend, how I'd well up with joy!

but attached to that is an image of his funeral, and a very sad little boy.

I could look for myself... like in a past form,

but until recently any version of me was some sort of raging terrible storm.

I could look for my youth, my innocents, my childhood,

but they are all wrapped up in scads of paperwork- and none of it good.

I could chose to reclaim my aunt who was nothing but pure good and sound,

but as big as our love was, attached to it now is how small cancer made her, 62 pounds.

I could easily desire to want to see my dog-

but I had to work years to get past the time wrapped around her of sad fog.

I suppose I could look for a tangible thing...

my favorite chapstick, that one blue sweater, my husband's class ring-

I guess I don't miss much, of things you can hold,

I never found value in money, possessions; I don't even care for nostalgia truth be told.

I know where that box is, I see it all the time-

it's my heart that's the 'chest' and the key- in my mind.

I am not searching for my past, not anymore...

anything I have lost comes with something that keeps me emotionally poor.

I can't even think of a thing I'd desire or for a day want to borrow,

because all I seek now- is the day after tomorrow.

Love it or hate it

life goes on

you can drown in your frustrations

and move on with dread

or you can lift you head up high

and go on with confidence

But how come

I never take my own advice

but rather

get frustrated

over and over again

The expectations from others

the desire to be hopeful

the eagerness to live better

is my downfall

And here I am

drowning in worries

being frustrated

of goals I can’t achieve

and expectations I can’t meet

To dread living

the sorrows

of living through each day

How am I suppose to lift my head up?

Not to be

Too ruminative

But the choice

To live

By bit and bridle

Is nothing more

Than mere survival

says that Face

across the bar

you know

like the one

in the

billboard

who has

to have

it all

the bonded

money grill

the sterling

dozen

parked cars

in his twelve

car garage

the trophy

lady seated

in the

nail salon

three kids

in attention

before the

blaring 56"

flat-screen

cinched or

clinched was

it clenched

I meant

He's selling

you something

it's in the eyes

but I'm not sure

what it is

it's hard to

hear when

everyone's

cheering for

the team,

the home

team?

no one's

asking &

you want

to Trust

somebody

but

you're not

sure what's

the fuss

over

what

game or

station or

never mind

the score

taken

you have this

doubt and

you're trying

your damnedest

to drown it

cause

what is

this

extravagant

animation

all about &

what's going

on anyhow?

You swear

you've seen this

passing by

faster on TV

taken notes even

& you thought

you'd roped

your old school

beliefs

Everything is

saying Trust me:

you don't belong

in here;

And if not,

then

where?

Melancholy offers

a free refill &

you picture

the corner of

your rented room

where Claustrophobia

has all but f*cked

you over

So you go &

you tell yourself

that you go out

to be

among people

where poetry

is written

across blank faces

and you have

grave doubts

as such

but you Trust

yourself

to fill in

the missing

details

And so

you hold

your place

and you keep

your piece

holstered

yes you trusss

you Truss

yourself

to take a

breath

and

exhale

Something

is after all

in there...

God or life

or Faith or

even if it's

only Death

...It is

there

and it

will

wait

2023 AUG 04

I don’t blame you for your anger, but did you have to be so relentlessly cruel? I’m not sure you ever truly loved me, after all. Then again, I know I deserved your wrath - deserved the hard, cold force of reality shoved down my throat. Still, it’s not like I didn’t punish myself enough, beat myself up repeatedly. I promise I was harder on me than you ever could have been.

I don’t blame you, I really don’t. I didn’t intentionally set out to hurt you. I was just so damn lonely, day after day, week after week, month after month, and then years passed, and I wondered if I’d ever feel alive again. I felt so old and withered - abandoned in the perpetual struggle of our marriage. All my efforts felt futile, disparaged, and I truly thought I might die. The need for affection became a palpable thing, growing inside me like a cancer - a volcano preparing to erupt. I never would have guessed I could succumb to such temptation, but I guess I’m more human than I thought. More than anyone thought, for that matter.

I don’t blame you – I’d be angry, too. I’m a sinner in the worst of ways. It's an irony for sure, because I’m not narcissistic – was not at all like you were in our relationship. But suddenly, my overwhelming need took precedence. All I could seem to focus on after years of being ignored was the gnawing, burning need inside me, as if I was an infant in need of sustenance and nurturing. And then one day, I was extended the slightest branch of affection, much like the apple given to Eve, and I grabbed hold of it as if my life depended on it. I’m sorry. Truly I am.

I don’t blame you. I was wrong – so very wrong, but I’ve learned to forgive myself. More importantly, I’ve learned to forgive you. I know now that we were two unfortunate, sad souls, bound in a vice of marriage that should have been forged open years sooner. Unhappy people can become desperate people, and we were both desperately seeking an escape. I forgive you. I forgive myself.

My forgiveness has lent a new born renewal to my life, releasing me from my own self-loathing as well as the loathing I once felt for you. Now, in the later years of my life, I am able to see the better moments we shared, and I am thankful in a way I never thought I would be. Life throws us curved roads when we expect straight ones, so we must adapt, must learn to navigate the courses. We could have chosen to continue to feed the hatred, but instead, we chose to free it into the universe and feel something more – something unexpectedly better: a recovered friendship and a different kind of affection.

No, I don’t blame you - not anymore. Unfortunate choices were made, but we have both learned from these mistakes. We’ve let go of the bitterness and have moved forward in lieu of regressing to a point of no return.

No, I don’t blame you. Instead, I am thankful for you and lessons learned. Most of all though, I am thankful I don’t blame you – or myself - anymore.