Rhonda

brown glass fragrance bottle beside white pearl bracelets

I chose the yellowed white pearls your hands crafted as a gift

your art, my memory forever entwined.

Now on the morning drive west

the pink gold sun

rising slow behind me

this gift says goodbyes to me.

Your death was from my art undone.

I am sorry.

There is more care than orders scripted or procedures done

more than the fatigue of so much hurt.

I chose the yellowed white pearls

in memory awakened to a daily becoming

not fading

burning off the haze of dawn. 

 

 

For The Record

nvz_2017_00001.jpg

She did not match the data presented

in hospital speak to a crowd of learners.

It was not so much a lie

as it was a revealing – a tale.

The well and the ill are stories

told from all sides of a hospital bed

in space and time

not captured in code and computer screens.

So let the record so reflect

the hurt and the heart of

hands reaching

and healing

beyond the numbering of days.

 

 

Photography thanks to Nick Van Zanten

Mourning rounds

 

wherethedragonssleepwr.jpg

From the opposite side, I watched the murder

some might say suicide.

Racing never an attempt to waver.

Morning speed a must.

Indecisive the victim scrambled left -right

then frozen in fear –crushed by the weight

a heart stopped.

A morning death always makes me cry.

 

Photo courtesy of blumworks@wordpress