Two days before my son was born, my mother called my home and told my husband to find a reason to leave the house in order to call her. She needed to tell him something she didn’t want me to hear about. Yet. My dad had died. I was on bed rest and, apparently, they were afraid the shock might do something to the baby or me. Shock because although death is a normal part of life, my dad was 47 and I had not even been told he was so ill death was in the picture. There is nothing normal about a 47-year-old dying. His death certificate, I discovered years later, says “natural causes” under cause of death. I have never understood that. I guess it’s because he didn’t die of a gunshot wound or drown or something clearly unnatural. I suspect his alcoholism and smoking finally caught up to him although he had stopped both almost a year prior…perhaps coinciding with finding out he was finally going to be a grandpa.

Minutes after my son was born, the doctor – considered callous and thoughtless by every nurse in the hospital thereafter – said, “Oh, by the way, your husband and your mom didn’t know how to tell you, but your dad died two days ago.”

So the most beautiful moment of my life, the birth of our son, was dimmed by the death of my father.

Or, was the despair death inspires softened by my son’s birth?

My mother wrote a lovely poem about the souls of my father and my son meeting as one left this world and the other joined it. I like that image. I used to tell myself that my dad had had such a sad life, perhaps God gave him a chance at a happier one in my son. I like that thought – especially as I watch my son not only pursue his passions but also work hard to inspire others to do the same. To be the best version of themselves that they can be. Beaten down by family, friends and society, my dad drowned his aspirations over the course of his 47 years, too late realizing he did have something for which – for whom – life was worth living if he could not do so for himself. I love that my son tries to help people live fully, joyfully, so that they never regret what they didn’t do.

I still grieve for my father. I never got to say goodbye. He never got to know the grandchild he was requesting on our wedding day – “When are you going to give me a grandson?” Two years were a few days too many for him to wait.

Despite the grief, a lesson was learned in my hospital room as tears of joy merged with those of sorrow: Life goes on.

Diamond sugar starlight

Moon ascends on ocean’s brine

To score eve’s flesh of azurite

Sun’s lemon-yellow rind

Half-and-half poured out to sea

Spilt over the edge of dusk

Honey hues quell Sky’s black tea

Earth’s dipped in milk like rusks

I was always all cuts.

They covered my skin with invisible ink,

but only I could see them.

I didn’t know how gashes truly felt

until I met your tongue:

Cut up on love.

Cut up on pain.

Cut up on all of you.

I couldn’t clean up all the milk we spilt,

or remove the leftover grinds of pour over coffee once shared

from the crevices of my stomach,

which we both knew was sensitive

and vulnerable.

You were clumsy,

but I always clumsier

and it is difficult to point fingers.

But it matters not.

For I am choking

and you are thrusting.

And I am drowning

and you are conquering vessels emptier

than the one I am now.

You are hosting warm bodies

and I am all hauntings.

All ghost fingers pressed against stubble

and unwanted possessions of lips once lingering.

I am bleeding open,

I am stitched.

I am intensity,

I am barren.

I am haunting and haunted and failed exorcisms and phantasms of grave-dug dreams.

You are finding homes

in houses of flesh on weekends.

And I am lost on my own,

in abandoned hearts and transparent wounds

still fully fresh and irreparably bruised.

The silence that fills this house has never been as overpowering as it was tonight. The memories of running through the halls with a towel around my shoulders couldn’t drown out the feeling of missing life that echoed throughout the hollowed and burnt walls. The beams and vines created an abandoned home. My flashlight flickered on and off and a wish to be back at my apartment swept through my thoughts.

A gust of wind rushed through the house and while I could see that I was the only one there it felt like someone was trailing their fingers across my shoulders.

The dust and ash swept up and traced the back of my neck like breath. My heart sped up and as I walked further and further down the hall. My eyes darted back and forth, trying hopelessly to see into every dark corner, every abscess between the floorboards, every movement in the shadows that made me feel, less, and less alone.

“Hi, Honey.”

I skitter back and press against the staircase leaning against the beams holding up the rail. Standing in the doorway was my girlfriend, her hair pulled up, dirt on her pants, and a paint can in her hands.

“I know this place needs work but I think a coat of paint will make it feel more like the home you used to know.” She walked past me and into the kitchen.

My hand clutched my shirt and I tried to slow my heart rate down. Looking around this ghost of a place and out into the endless darkness that had swallowed the day, I couldn’t help think she was wrong. The shadows of monsters and hope tackled my sensibility and my hands shook as I walked down the hall, properly accompanying the coiled feeling of dread as my feet followed in the footsteps of my past.

*Original Piece

anything

could be lurking

in the shadows

even though

i know

it’s irrational

for me to think

someone

something

could be creeping close to me

i jump up at the slightest sound

switch on a flashlight

and hope to drown

the thoughts that whisper

don’t you know

anything

could be hiding

in the

dark?

songs, stories, books, movies: about how innocent and angelic we were in childhood.

childhood me should've trade lives with those kids, because i sure didn't think the kids in elementary school were that pure.

the girl who scratched me on the neck in second grade.

the kids in the special ed class who were shunned and belittled because they were "crazy."

the boy with cancer, where his classmates made bets on how long he'd last for, and called him "fat," when the only reason he gained weight was from the steroids he had to take for his treatment.

the girl who made fun of the ethnic food i ate, merely because i wasn't eating american food.

the girls who'd always gossip about the clothes you wore. or they'd tell you right in your face.

and honestly, nothing has really changed from then.

I can't breathe; my soul is being ripped to shreds. It hurts but every day I try to mend

what keeps on breaking in my head. I can't seem to think straight this jumble of words scratching at the walls of my brain like a dog begging for its owner to let them out. So there i stay withering away without a doubt the only thing in hand are the crisp cold sheets of my bed. My boken heart shatters, while i'm stuck wishing I was dead instead.

“America’s Book Lover,” Patzi Gil, launched her radio program “Joy on Paper” five years ago. Now it’s broadcast on nearly 50 radio stations as well as online at www.TanTalk1340.com.

CLEARWATER, FL — Patzi Gil, “America’s Book Lover,” plans to celebrate Valentine’s Day on Thursday, Feb. 13, by inviting three poets to her popular radio show “Joy on Paper.” On St. Patrick’s Day, she’ll celebrate the program’s fifth anniversary by talking to Andrew Grant and his wife, New York Times best-selling author Tasha Alexander.

“I love poetry and, especially around Valentine’s Day, my heart turns to the way a few words can become so magical,” Patzi said, adding that, “I am also thrilled that my special guests for the fifth anniversary of my program will be Andrew Grant and Tasha Alexander. Andrew is Lee Child’s baby brother and will be joining Lee to write the next books in the Jack Reacher series.”

“Joy on Paper” can be heard Tuesdays and Thursdays, 11 a.m. (Eastern Time) on Tan Talk Radio, 1340-AM and 106.1-FM, or online at www.TanTalk1340.com.

Little did Patzi know that a serendipitous thought on the way to visit her husband at the hospital would blossom into a nationally broadcast radio program.

“I got the idea on a Tuesday when I was driving to the hospital at 4 o’clock in the morning,” Patzi explains. “My husband had just had a knee replacement and called me—he was hungry. He didn’t like the hospital’s graham crackers. Knowing my husband, I had cinnamon rolls ready to go…”

During the drive, Patzi heard a radio host interview an author.

“It was a bad interview,” she recalls. “I could tell that the host had not read the book. For some reason, I just ‘saw’ what became my radio program in my head. I thought—Well at least I would have read the guy’s book.”

Thus began what she calls a “radio program for writers and those who dream of writing—and for everyone who wants to know the story behind the book.”

For her first broadcast, Patzi interviewed legendary literary agent Irene Goodman, a leading member of the publishing community for over 30 years, whose authors regularly appear in the New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly.

Since then, Patzi has filled the airwaves with other interviews, including best-selling authors like Lee Child, Douglas Brunt, Laura Resnick, the late Mary Higgins Clark, David Baldacci, Nelson DeMille, Sara Paretsky, and C.J. Box. In addition, she has spoken to nine Mystery Writers of America Grand Masters, a Poet Laureate of the United States and many military heroes.

For her Valentine’s Day show, Patzi has lined up three poets. Two are nationally known, L.L. Barkat and Kim Dower; the third, Jim Lamb, is from the Tampa Bay area.

Barkat has authored six books for grown-ups and two for children. Her poems have appeared at Best American Poetry, VQR, and NPR. She’s founder of Tweetspeak Poetry, T. S. Poetry Press, Every Day Poems, and WordCandy. She’s also a writer at Edutopia, focusing on literacy, writing, poetry, and math. Her website is LLBarkat.com.

Dower was born and raised in New York City. She earned a BFA from Emerson College, where she has taught creative writing. Dower’s poems have been featured on Garrison Keillor’s “The Writer’s Almanac” and Ted Kooser’s “American Life in Poetry,” as well as in many journals, magazines, and anthologies. Her website is KimDowerPoetry.com.

Lamb is a retired journalist who worked for The Tampa Tribune and the Sarasota Herald-Tribune. He studied poetry in college as a way to hone his headline-writing skills. His poems and other writings can be found at TheProse.com/JimLamb.

When it comes to interviewing, Patzi Gil likes a broad array of authors: “It’s my joy to talk every week to amazing authors—from best-selling New York Times authors to those who’ve just released their first book,” the popular radio host said. For the St. Patrick’s Day/anniversary show on Tuesday, March 17, at 11 a.m., “Joy on Paper” will feature novelist Andrew Grant and his wife, New York Times best-selling author Tasha Alexander. The couple lives in Wyoming.

Grant was born in Birmingham, England, and attended the University of Sheffield where he studied Literature and Drama. His website is AndrewGrantBooks.com. In January, Grant’s brother, Lee Child, announced that he intended to retire from writing the Jack Reacher series, with Grant taking over.

Alexander is the daughter of two philosophy professors and grew up surrounded by books. She studied English Literature and Medieval History at the University of Notre Dame and is author of the long-running Lady Emily Series as well as the novel “Elizabeth: The Golden Age.” Her website is TashaAlexander.com.

Laura Resnick, author of “Doppelgangster,” calls Patzi “a charming, welcoming, and enthusiastic host.” Sara Imm, author of “How I Survived the Killing Fields,” describes Patzi’s show as “inspiring!” But Lawrence Block, a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America, put it best: “Patzi Gil is every writer’s dream interviewer. Not only does she read the book, but she gets it, and champions both it and its author. I’ve grown to hate interviews—but not when it’s Patzi on the other end of the phone line.”

ABOUT: “Joy on Paper” is produced at WTAN 1340-AM (http://www.tantalk1340.com) in Clearwater, FL. The program is also on Starcom Radio Network’s 42 stations across the United States, including California, Texas, Pennsylvania, Maine, Oklahoma, Michigan, Minnesota, and Ohio.

Somewhere

along the way

she lost herself,

drowned in despair,

and tangled

in a thorny mess,

depression’s twisted lair,

she withered

in the scorching sun,

uprooted by the winds —

tumbled,

in a heap,

undone;

a shell,

without,

within.

but i’ve fallen in love with a ghost

and i lost my balance when i needed it most

this blurry photograph is proof

of what i’m not sure but it feels like truth

- Sleeping At Last