It sill hurts to see
your Sure Jell and Lemon Pure
Paste in the pantry.
original poetry and haiku
It sill hurts to see
your Sure Jell and Lemon Pure
Paste in the pantry.
As I have continued to age,
my skin
has increasingly become
a sort of palette
that life
is using
to manifest
all manner
of odd growth,
like a surface
on which a painter
squeezes blobs of pigment
and paint.
I'm packing up our dreams
in copy paper boxes and
plastic storage containers --
lighthouse ornaments,
lighthouse tour maps,
and guide books to every
lighthouse along the shores
of Lake Michigan --
and storing them in the basement.
Perhaps one day I will
drop them off at Goodwill.
But for today,
in order to survive the pain,
I must box them up
and put them away.
You left me, our family,
our plans, our goals,
and boxes and boxes
of dreams
behind.