“Salty Lunch”

let me describe part of yesterday to you

Katie at the sink doing dishes
Scott in the living room holding Ariel
Carolyn in her room
and me at the kitchen table eating some lunch and crying

the only thing holding me back
from writing that poetry
are the comments being made
how I should only speak positive

if you only knew I had a calling
to write the rawness of what’s real
but then again
would you believe me?

so to not write would be listening
to man
and to write
would be listening to God

but then I have moments of doubt
of course
because part of my listening seems “off”
since I’m so sad

how do you lie through a life
saying everything’s okay
when inside most of the time
you’re on the verge of tears

how many people lose their life
and those around them ‘didn’t see it coming’
when asked how they were doing
did they simply “i’m fine”?

if honesty is so healing
why do people say to hide it?

when I write I release
and walk away lighter
with a clearer mind

when I don’t write
I seem to lose the battle
until I write

a wife without a husband
a mom without a child
a silence without laughter
are only memories and imaginations

“Foreign Land”

for the longest time
I’ve mapped my way around
before leaving the house
thinking the route

I couldn’t do that here
until yesterday

yes! a normal beginning
never realizing
the normal I had
until it was gone

beginning a normal
a normal beginning
or far from it