Dellymari's Blog

Everyday since then…

You’ve died in small pieces.

Fragments of yourself,

disconnected, no longer

accountable.  They are

independent, astray—

Painful pockets of time:

In earth’s growth,

a dream of childhood,

a cat’s narrow eye sneaking through,

a lover’s memory,

and a day gone by.

Everyday since then…

Numb, like a jaw on Novocain,

knowing the wearing off

does come, and like a sock in the mouth,

you awaken harshly to feeling every sting,

pinch, pull that you went through.

The search for what was taken,

what you let go of, who was and wasn’t,

and worse is almost…

Almost is dead hope.

The times you swear were simpler,

happy, they get away, further.

Everyday since then…

You see more clearly,

even with your eyes willingly closed:

There, the past, what’s to come?

But we can’t hold onto now,

we won’t it’s so punishing!

No man or woman can tolerate

staying within their broken heart

any length of time.

We break into illusions,

feed our souls with temporary medicine:

poisonous people and habits.

Scream wretchedly to heaven: Save us!

Other pieces come to life,

born from mistakes, and make beautiful

art, kiss sweet lips, find new friends.

We’re up high and growing,

down and falling.

But it doesn’t stop—

Everyday since then…

I’ve been with you, alone, trying

to put the pieces back together,

of me, how, when, you, tomorrow, today,

all with the promise of waking up fully alive once again.

©2012 Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNmKghTvj0E&feature=related

Between now and then,

is where I always find myself.

Dwelling in the significant space,

like a detective researching clues.

Or a butterfly,

how it takes time fluttering,

to find a perfect landing place.

That glorious in between time:

I held you in my heart, smiling,

mine in yours like a cloud,

secure in her sky.

Blue is love then.

Forever, good or hurting,

I’m afraid—

The present is Queen!

All around us, offering,

everything spectacular.

Sometimes, I take her in,

a sweet, refreshing breath,

prepared to leap

into a gratifying future.

Then I remember:

In love—

The way it pretends so beautifully,

perfection exists.

It doesn’t.

–

But happiness can be a lifelong dance,

if willing…

I think to reach my hand back,

grab you in like a handful

of fresh cut wild flowers.

Because what if…

Hope is hellish that way,

damned if you do or don’t.

So, the Queen waits.

She calls out like a magnificent-single-star,

on a clear summer night:

Here I am!

What are you waiting for?

Little deer,

caught in the headlights,

wondering if you’ll cross-over,

unharmed.

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

©2012 All rights reserved

Together, we sat counting his demons,

like crayons from a box.

So many colorful versions of the soul.

Up against the wall:

Jim, George, Nathaniel…
Prepare for execution!

Shadows cast against the innocence
of dawning light, a stable beige wall.

Bi-Polar, Schizophrenic fiasco, I hate you!
(And I swear, this time he was sincere.)

6:33 a.m.

Yesterday’s unmade bed,
cold-sweats,

sheets that stink of melodrama,
welcome him to hide from a now nearly-sober state.

I lock him in.

Prop a pillow at his spine,
(the good boy it once was, thanks me).

Oh, you poor man,

gambler, cheat, brute,

what have they done to you?

This is your dead father’s gift:
remnants of his soul, mightily
waging war within you.

Let us curse him wickedly,
however, not abuse him in this
your own haggard body!

And it is entirely your mother’s fault, I know,
for leaving.

Damn her cancer!

When you awaken,

I want to make you oatmeal,
with cinnamon and cream,

nurture myself in normalcy.

Oh, I’ll whistle happily and pretend…

—until one of your ghosts stab me in the back!

©December 2008

Maria DellaPorte

© By Maria On 12/12/2008 7:29:32 PM