Doctors can’t figure
What is going awry
With daddy’s heart.
Won’t beat on time
Rhythm out of whack
Arteries too small
To carry life to his bones.
Time after time
Changing medications
Cutting him open.
Never works quite right.
What the docs don’t know
What I wish I could explain
Is the organ is simply this-
Broken.
The child he raised
Loved with his whole self
Left this place forever.
Daddy’s soul severed that day.
The grief he carries
The literal weight of the world
It’s something modern medicine
Can never explain.
Only time & Jesus
Can heal his heart now.
Tag: loss
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“So, do you have any siblings?”
A innocent question
Which cuts like a knife.
I panic.
“No.”
“Oh, so you’re an only child?
How was that?”
My heart races.
I make up something
And quickly change the subject.
The guilt of this interaction
Weighs on me for weeks.
Why was I not brave enough?
To claim him, share his story?
After all the people I’ve met
Since he left seven years ago-
Somehow this question
Still does that to me.
Grief is a changeling .
A teacher, a wrecking ball, a friend.
There will always be moments
That shake me to my core.
My prayer is they will guide me
Towards a deeper love. -
I’ve started to embrace the grey skies
Instead of constant longing for sunshine
That’s where life usually lands
Most days I walk in the fog,
the uncertain conditions
That’s what grief is like
So much good left
Bright white
Splattered with midnight black
Moments that take your breath away
In the midst of intense joy
Your face flitters before my eyes
Your trouble, the sadness
Some say it makes moments sweeter
To know the bitterness
Happy moments aren’t meant to last
Though I do try
Continuum of losses & gains
The dark can shine, too. -
I told Meme I like a wet crust
A child’s way of saying
A little fruit
A lot of under baked crust
She chuckles softly at my request
Her soft bosom pressed against my back
Holding me steady
Tip toed on an old rusty stool
At her aged linoleum counter
The old stove creaks
Groaning it’s way to 350
Taste of raw doe
Zaps the saliva off my tongue
Thirsty and happy
Meme’s soft instruction
Kneading crisco, cold water, flour
We make more of a mess
Than a dessert
Somehow it comes out delicious
My grandmothers magic
Afternoon snack of baked apples
In a flaky brown skin
A simple act now stamped
In perfect color from my memory
Kacie B. Sharpe 