Posted by: janetleigh | February 23, 2016

Too Soon for Pithy Words

Too soon for pithy words
pious airs or platitudes;
passings of great magnitude
punctuate a harsh season.

The remains of my life
are scattered to the far reaches
of mind, yet
here and now, an image,
laid to rest

between red buds,
rock pyre-splayed daffodils,
lilacs, last words, the heart
remains (Scott cleaves to Rascal)
ashes to ashes
within his master’s arms.

A sacred grave
left behind
to make way
for an old new life
in different parts
among indifferent hearts

I left
(Virginia homestead)
a sentinel
over cherished, sacred ground.

I search for words big enough to convey
emptiness disbelief hurt sorrow
bewilderment forgetfulness (flare-up)
data-overload (pleurisy) (smashed face)
analysis-paralysis anger shock
(influenza) (bronchitis) (mild[?]pneumonia)
hopelessness silence (flare-up)
inconceivable accidents
inappropriate behavior laughter crying

I wear a black cloud like a hat.

October 23, 2015
I howl
like a grieving
(emotional critical mass)
in my blanketed-arms
our sweet little furkid Tess, died.
It is
inconsolable hung-heart-hell-hurt.
(All things considered)

Contessa ChiChi Clark,
the last thread of the fabric
of my woven family
of impossibilities,

 (to all that is in-between
now and then, and
what’s been left out
to whom and when)


to find words pithy enough
to convey
that which fills the black hole
of the whole of my heart.

Image borrowed from

Copyright © 2016 by Janet Leigh.  All rights reserved.

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