Grief
Touch me, it's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory.
Goodnight, my angel.
Now it's time to sleep.
I kissed her our last kiss. I lost my love, my life that night.
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.
Oh, look at all the lonely people.
I must be strong.
And carry on.
All by myself. Don't want to live, all by myself anymore.
Exit light.
Enter night.
In restless dreams, I walked alone. Narrow streets of cobblestone.
I see you, I feel you.
”Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight?
You're in the arms of the angel.
And I will always love you.
I will always love you.”
The Life of a Year
Spring is a baby. Quiet cries with the soft rainfall and loud shrieks with the storms. Fresh fragrant new baby smell. Wonder and awe of what is and what will be.
Summer is the teenager with its hot passion, stormy temperament, and carefree attitude. The days are long and feel as if they are invincible and never-ending.
Fall is the middle aged parent enjoying the apples from its trees of labor and fondly reminiscing about summer while its leaves begin to wither and fall.
Winter is the old woman, gray and white with age. Bitter at dreams unfulfilled. Cold from the whipping, icy winds of the world.
Mammogram: Paddles squeezing, the silent tech, extra pictures, a phone call to the radiologist, the request for more images, more squeezing but focused on one area, back to the waiting room, clock ticking, called back for the sonogram, warm jelly, a wand massaging back and forth over the same area, the silent tech snapping pictures, the phone call to the radiologist, more waiting, the biopsy needle pricking the same area, a sting as it pulls the fluid, go home and wait for our call…