NPM 2 / 30

I should note that these pieces are drafts. Sometimes I go back and refine them, and sometimes they just exist here. The Day of 10,000 Butterflies  last March, I was visiting my mother we were a year past the death of my father only a couple months until I would move in to live with…

National Poetry Month 1 / 30

That’s right, friends, it’s National Poetry Month. I skipped out on 30 for 30 last year because I was going to be leaving my job, and I simply couldn’t handle the pressure of writing something new. This year, I’m taking on the challenge, and I have a feeling this coronavirus will be a major part…

NPM – 25 of 30

My pal, Lindsay White, posts a monthly writing challenge. For June it was to write a poem where the total number of words match your age. So mine is 46. Workout #46 my sweat smells sour as I work to lose what I can only kindly describe as grief weight extreme heat presses around me…

NPM – 24 of 30

Caregiving when Dad was released from the hospital to come home for hospice they insisted that he constantly be on oxygen low, whirring concentrator in his room long green tubing before his trek to the living room each morning, then back again for naps and at night, he’d ask for the cannula to be removed…

NPM – 23 of 30

It’s been 5 months today since the day I describe below. ~~ “did he give you a good story for the day he died?” – “The Funeral” by Lindsay White when we could no longer lift him when it took four paramedics to get him back to the bedroom when he was barely able to…

NPM – 22 of 30

Christmas Day what I remember: walking to Starbucks with my sister & her husband tripping and falling flat on my face into a yard on the way home when I told my dad I’d fell, the way he took my hand, patted it, made sympathetic noises knowing it would be my dad’s last Christmas not…

NPM – 21 of 30

Searching the Sky flying west toward the coast toward home golden horizon beckons promising nothing I’m familiar with what awaits quiet, unspoken thoughts about the trajectory of my life falling into bed, returning to work spouting canned pleasantries about my trip we hurtle through the sky at death-defying speeds through unimaginable cold in relative comfort…

NPM – 20 of 30

Winter Solstice on the longest night of the year my father told us he was ready to die driving home, those lines popped in my head so I knew this poem had to come at some point it’s impossible to exist in these two roles daughter, poet without overlap ~~ his decision was both shocking…

NPM – 19 of 30

Teddy I reach for him almost every night a relic from my childhood he’s never left my side with an unimaginative name and nothing really cuddly about him he is still my comfort when I was little and had amassed a menagerie of stuffed animals a coven of dolls my mother thought of an idea…

NPM – 18 of 30

New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day we woke him just before midnight glasses of champagne in hand ready to toast the new year and whatever remaining days or hours we have together with him we helped him sit up swung his legs off the side of the bed so he could join us in our bittersweet…