Excavating fear

What drove you?
Was it the fear
that you would never be enough
for your mother?
If I excavate the ruins,
will I find her
blonde face
in the dust of your despair?
The ruins of our failure.

My own fear
that I was never enough for my father
haunts me
stands like a shadow at the door
a monster under the bed
roots me to the floor
paralyzed
I should change the sheets,
but cannot turn the page.

our fears so deeply buried
lines of code
like DNA
they spell out
run
run
run

Medical Release

It was an artifact I never thought to find
amongst the unpaid medical bills, foreclosure notices, junk mail.
In the debris of my life,
I found your signature
small and tight at the bottom of the page
certifying that you would keep me safe.

Elizabeth  never warned me that the stages of grief could last so long

she never said that one little paper could inflict so many cuts

could the doctors and nurses have known,
the brevity of your promise.
how already you were plotting to rid yourself
of the troublesome woman, the mischievous girl
this walking hospital bed and her insecurity blankets
that covered you with love and smothered you in fear.


I can't be the first woman in history to pine over a broken love
and I certainly won't be the last, this is just grief looking for acceptance.