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: poem
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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 saw a picture of me
From 7 years ago
A tiny wisp of a thing
Like a strong wind might
Knock me right over.
I took a lot of stock
In that type of thing
Back then.
The less space I took up,
The better.
Now I’ve got pounds
From each of my babies
Clinging to my bones.
My hips, breasts, skin stretched
To accommodate them.
There are days
I relish past memories.
That look, energy, freedom.
Then I remember the miracle
God did with my body
To create this family.
Whatever I thought
Back then
Is but a whisper
Compared to what is now. -
Hershey’s kiss
Unravels perfectly
Intense sweet as it hits the tongue
Making your mouth pucker
A mid-day treat
Turns to nostalgia
Slowly melting into
A tidal wave of holiday memories
Christmas stockings
Easter baskets
Halloween buckets
Sprinkled in
Almost an afterthought.
But your father says
No fancy chocolate can beat it.
The wrapper crackles between your fingers
You remember
It was a nice little missile
To flick at your brother.
Some things transcend
The test of time.
Kacie B. Sharpe 