Labor of Love

There are times when her head
Falls back heavy and slow
Sinking into the plushy depths
Of the couch cushions, 8:30 pm.

Beer still in hand, not quite empty
On is the televised soundtrack of
Mental tranquility

Her brand of desperate solitude
Offers an alternate plane of
Consciousness, where reality
Presents itself in a more beautiful
And dramatic mirage: surreality.

Events once truly experienced return
With a clarity and rawness not fully
Actualized until now: The birth of child
Times two.

The pain, wonderfully empowering
And the process: A transformation of
Perspective and chance.

Panting and moaning, reliving it all, now.
Outside of the body, she sees herself
As a beautiful vessel, large and openly organic
Grace and endless love, entirely selfless

In Nature.

It is as if she is pouring herself into another,
In order that they may simply, BE,
Thick and whole.

In the end, there is Existence.

A mixture of emptiness and loss blended
Well with joy and wonder of her blessed
Gift, all-consuming.

Shiva-like change is both restorative
And destructive

Her head lodged tightly in a square of the sofa
And her heart plunged deeply in a memory,
She labors.

This, she believes, is a labor of love,
Moreover, it is a love of labor.

revival

wilted and watered
down emotions
toiled and tattered
by overuse

wrung out
by
hurried
harried hands
that can't stop

demanding more

feeling
talking
sharing
connecting

life

moves in erratic
and poetic
patterns of prediction
and choice

and coincidence
trips me up
and slows me
down
to the place
where memories
live and hide out

wading
waiting
weighting

for the next life
when things
will reconnect
reconcile
for this story has
already been
told cold

sold

to the highest
bidder bought
with the
brightest light

melting down
and releasing
a shining glint
of hope for what
she wanted from

whenever that time
was that
she remembers
wanting
something or
someone

perhaps simply
wanting

gripping slipping done

things change in her mind
daily
special

times and thoughts
and flickers of the heart
trigger
constant doubt
worry about

decisions
and emotions
needing to wrap her
head around her heart
exhausts
and exhilirates

questions
of legality
suitability
and eligibility
increasingly gritty

and wry

so, develops like
a slow forming
pimple,
a haven of anxious
worry in her chest
that she constantly
confuses with excitement
pain

change like
moment's notice

reminds her
she is making choices

every

single

second

yet, she is never sure
what each one will
encourage her to feel
next

and she has ALWAYs
hated suprises

so it goes.