Prove me Wrong…
A debate in good faith
with a young man of faith —
unabashedly so.
Hate proved him right.
They gathered to argue —
Agree —
Learn —
Teach —
Except for one.
Hate came to silence it all.
Its ideology whistled
through the charged air,
tore through the neck —
Of a kind man —
A husband —
A father —
A forever hopeful who held love for all.
His respect for others did not stop
at opposing beliefs.
Hate etched its intentions on bullets —
(hey, fascist, catch!) —
Its voice exploded in a red waterfall.
His little girl ran to him
as life left his body.
She sought comfort — reassurance —
not knowing her world was changed.
His views were not mine.
His words were not mine.
But death is nonpartisan.
Grief does not ask how you vote.
We mourn in fragments and forums,
in soundbites and silence.
We mourn because
Hate came to campus,
and it never left.
Category: Grief
~*~This Side of the Dirt~*~
This side of the dirt,
alcohol splits purple skin.
Words drill tender skulls
that become DNA.
This side of the dirt,
home is where the horror is —
Rhythmic screams become lullabies.
Walls remember what the wounded won’t.
This side of the dirt,
Memories fade with bruises.
Forgiveness blooms in a good day.
Muscle memory elicits laughter.
This side of the dirt,
I bury my name
beneath the porch —
it can’t echo when they curse it.
This side of the dirt,
Roots grow from stupors —
They hold me still and loyal,
never safe.
This side of the dirt,
I write on skin with blood —
he learned to hit
beneath the clothes.
This side of the dirt,
they speak kindly of the dead.
Kindness was a language
he never knew.
This side of the dirt,
they eulogize a missed man —
wish him peace.
Peace fled every room he entered.
This side of the dirt,
I cried over his coffin —
my soul screamed
in relief and exhaustion.
This side of the dirt,
they plant flowers on his grave —
I plant silence in my throat.
It blooms each time he’s called “beloved.”
…And, Yes, I Raised My Left Hand
I used up all of my spoons before 9:30 a.m. today, and I didn’t even leave the house. Today is a day that will go down in infamy — in my head. I had my disability hearing this morning, and discovered I would crumple like a piece of tissue paper and confess to any crime I never committed if I ever set foot on a witness stand. Nobody would have to say a word to me, just look at me sternly. I would be Law & Order dun-done! It all started smoothly with me raising my left hand before finally switching to my right 🙄. Fortunately, they could not see me since the hearing was over the phone.
The judge asked me questions first, and that was nerve-wracking in itself. If I didn’t answer the question correctly because I didn’t understand what he was asking of me, he just repeated the question verbatim without rephrasing or any kind of explanation. That was very intimidating to me and made me feel stupid. When my lawyer questioned me, it was easier because he would rephrase or elaborate when I didn’t understand what he was asking of me.
Notably, and embarrassingly, my lawyer asked me if I was “bad at falling,” to which I replied that, no, I was good at falling, and he asked if I was saying I fall frequently or do not fall. After thinking on it, I understood what was being asked and felt very autistic in that moment. While Adam would understand my answer and clarify the question for me, I fear the judge thought I was being a smartass or pedantic, which I wasn’t. I simply did not feel I had the time to think on the answers, especially with how quickly the questions were being asked. This happened with several questions.
I got choked up on questions regarding Mom’s death, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, and self-harm. I know it had to just kill Adam that he couldn’t comfort me since he wasn’t supposed to be in the same room at the time.
The social security people provided an expert to detail which jobs I would be able to do with my level of disabilities, and that was even more nerve-wracking for me because I could not refute any of the listed jobs, which the jobs were so obscure, and none could be done from home (I’m agoraphobic), and I certainly couldn’t do the ones she mentioned due to carpal tunnel and arthritic hands. There were only three available sedentary jobs they felt I could do, which were mail sorter, eyeglass lens polisher, and “electronics checker.” Where do they find these jobs?
She named even more jobs that were “light duty,” not sedentary, but when my lawyer cross-examined her and asked how many of those jobs could be done by someone with a history of falling who needs some assistance walking, she replied, “None.” He thought that was a promising answer.
Regardless, there are zero jobs that were listed that I could do in my home, on my own flexible schedule with as many breaks as I require. I spoke of my job I’ve been doing for 19 years and how difficult it is to do because of ADHD, and how it takes me an entire day to eke out two hours’ worth of work. I also mentioned how I am paid by production, meaning I get paid solely for what I produce even though I have to do research in my work frequently.
As mentioned, my lawyer felt confident about the hearing and told me so after I spoke with him after the hearing concluded. I told him how frustrating it was that I could not refute the jobs listed, and he understood my frustration but was pleased with how few job opportunities they came up with. There is an automatic appeal process that will take place if the verdict is not in my favor, but after that, it would go to a federal appeal court, which I really don’t want to do. Of course, I can file again in the future, but the process takes over two years each time. By that time, however, I would have more medical documentation and evidence to provide to the court. So, now, we wait.
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Even though I strongly dislike both female leads, I watched Wicked because I’m a Wizard of Oz movie fan. I’ve never read Wicked or seen the play, but had heard good things about the play. I have to say, I love the new movie, and it quickly became my latest comfort movie. Because of it, I started reading the Oz books by L. Frank Baum, which are offered for free on Apple Books as part of their classics collection. There are a ton of classic books for free there!
Due to my writing classes, this year has been one full of thinking about the past and finally trying to work through it and sit with the emotions the memories evoke. Unfortunately, Wicked makes me think of how I was treated by my dad and his second wife (the Ogre – she looks just like Fiona, but ugly).
Dad and the Ogre didn’t really care for either of us kids, but my brother was treated marginally better than I. Dad did steal $12,000 from my brother (of which he used a portion to purchase the Ogre’s engagement ring), after convincing him to not trust banks, and my brother stayed in contact with him after that because of my nieces, so that is where we differed because I went no contact after yet another birthday was missed/forgotten by Dad. For the record, he made zero attempts to contact me after I decided to not chase after him as I had done my entire life. Actually, he never attempted to contact me my entire life…
Presently, watching how Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West, is treated by her father in Wicked, and how Elphaba’s sister Nessarose is so favored, really stirred up memories and emotions. Posting these memories and thoughts on social media has been interesting to me since I come from a family that considers “airing dirty laundry” a bad, scandalous thing. I find it therapeutic and like I am seen 🤷♀️. My family is mostly on Facebook, so I have my site, IG, and Threads to speak freely, but, honestly, why can’t I speak freely wherever I want? I went through it and live in the aftermath, so I should be able to share it. Plus, I chose to air this dirty laundry because it is directly connected to my poetry and writing that I have chosen to publish. I think sharing some life stories provides context for my published work. It’s not like I have a fan base, anyway, so who’s really going to be reading what I write?
I have been kicking around posting the beginnings of my memoir here that I started in class and continuing it in the blog. Again, I have no readers/online presence to speak of, but I can pretend I do and work through some pent-up feelings in that way. I don’t know what it is, but some people find it helpful having, or imagining, strangers read about their lives and care on some level. I am one of those people. As a writer, there is no feeling quite like when someone tells you they can relate to something you have written and that it has impacted them. I’ve had this happen several times on All Poetry, especially with my latest poems about my childhood, and it just feels like I am connecting with people and making them feel things, which is so cool.
Going back to Wicked, I would recommend seeing it, especially people who love musicals and/or Broadway shows. I don’t like some popular musical movies, like Hairspray, Grease, Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, to name a few, but if I like the songs, I will watch the heck out of them. I love Sweeney Todd and Repo! The Genetic Opera and The Devil’s Carnival and Cry Baby. Okay, those are pretty dark ones. I also love Disney animated musicals, i.e., Enchanted, Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs (which should be Dwarves, but whatever), Frozen, Tangled, The Little Mermaid (the good one), Beauty & the Beast, and the like.
As mentioned, I am not an Ariana fan and am no longer a Cynthia fan since her uncalled-for outburst (I had only seen her in that El Royale movie, anyway), but the story, singing, songs, acting, and sets are just awesome. Even though I’m a stickler for canon and knowing the narrative, I love the storylines of Wicked and Oz the Great and Powerful (completely separate from the Wicked material). Of course, neither follows the books. Oz… does well as a prequel to The Wizard of Oz. Wicked gives another viewpoint with completely different character names and explanations from Oz…, so I consider it more a fanfiction book/musical/movie. Since they are all entertaining and visually stunning, I have been pretty lax in trying to smoosh them all together.
Adam mentioned Wicked being my new comfort movie, which I found sweet that he noticed. After Mom died, the poor guy had to listen to Frozen multiple times a day for months, then Bob’s Burgers. He knew the songs for both as well as I did! I think we live a very immersive life, and being in the same room 24/7 really solidifies that.
One More for the Road
I am now at four works in progress and I’m beginning to think I am the problem 😏. I don’t think I have it in me to write a full-length fiction novel. I get bored and “stuck” very quickly and throw what I’m working on to the side so I can start something new. I mean, I never could read an RL Stine book without skipping to the last chapter, so why would I think I could write all the way through?
My “voice” is strongest and most authentic when I’m writing non-fiction. I have masked for so long that it’s hard to allow myself to come through, but I am learning to do that and it’s most evident in my poetry and new WiP. But even with poetry, I get feedback that I use a lot of classic and traditional words and phrases. I’m not totally sure what that means, but people agreed with the analysis, so it wasn’t just one person.
Anyway, for my advanced creative writing workshop, I have to write a “primary piece” that is not my normal genre (which is poetry). I chose non-fiction because I am most comfortable with that, and I started writing about my life. I’m about 2,000 words in and it’s already painful. I’ve been sitting here crying out of hurt and anger.
Another Fear Realized
It is with a very heavy heart that I write this. Ever since keeping cats solely inside (since 1998), I have been afraid that one or more would die here and I would discover them. I always hoped Mom or Adam would be the one to discover them (terrible, I know) and would tell me about it after burying them. That was not the case yesterday morning. Gandalf the Grey (Gandi) was sleeping in Mom’s shower yesterday, and since the pups aren’t allowed in the bathroom, it made sense. Since he hadn’t been on my keyboard tray visiting with me after I got out of bed, I checked on him when I got up to use the bathroom and found that he wasn’t breathing and wasn’t warm.
I woke Adam up and told him that Gandi wasn’t breathing, so he got up and checked and confirmed that he was gone. Just like in the movies and shows, he walked back to me and sadly shook his head without speaking. I could only wail and ask “Why?!” repeatedly. We don’t know what happened. Before going into the bathroom, Gandi had briefly been on the bed with us by Adam, and after I fell asleep, Adam said he peed on the bed while lying there, then went to lay in the bathroom when Adam took the bedclothes off. I didn’t get a chance to make an appointment for him to see why that happened.
He and Theo have been staying out of Mom’s room since I got Ollie. Gandi stayed on the table most of the time near the cat food and water. Theo stays on the fridge. He had been to the vet two or three months prior for a urinary tract infection and received antibiotics.
For the past couple of days, Gandi had been in Mom’s room with me, sleeping on my keyboard tray and purring while I pet and loved on him. I figured he got lonely and said to hell with the dogs. He let me kiss his head and brush him and was being his old sweet self. Now, he’s gone and I don’t know why. He had just turned 10 in July. Both of my babies I got after Mom died are gone, and I’m so sad. I don’t know what I did wrong or how much he suffered or how I missed his cries for help. I just don’t know.
Hello, Again
I am so very proud of my husband! After finally listening to me, and seeing how miserable I was, he managed to get our psychiatrist to switch one of his medications and I am starting to get my husband back. I missed him. I don’t know if our doctor is getting money to push these medications but Adam’s told him numerous times they weren’t helping, and he would not change them. I’m still not sold on the Trintellix. I had a genetic test to see what worked for my body, and I would like Adam to get it as well but I think our doctor moved the main office back near the state university since we “see” him via phone since COVID. If he could do it at the hospital, that would be great.
Anyway, Adam’s starting to write again and wanting to paint again. He’s mowed the front yard and weedeated — I can see Mom’s flower bed! Heck, I can see our front yard! I’ve been wanting to go out with the boys and walk around near the woods but the grass was too high and the woods are moving closer to the house. We have to get a new weedeater because the one I got is battery-operated and really light and doesn’t get the job done on what those stupid zinc plant people replaced our grass with 😡. Oh, yeah; we live in a small town that had a zinc plant, which has been demolished, and DuPont replaced our yard with nothing but weeds. And I really mean weeds. Lowest bidder is the winner, huh?
On top of all that, he’s been doing the laundry and the dishes, and he cooks for me regularly. Most importantly, he comes and sees me whenever I get up and visits with me before I start work, which is the best. He’s noticed I’ve been…more attracted…to him than I was, and I told him it’s because the medicine has helped him be who he was before Mom died, in fewer words. I told him helping out with the house stuff is sexier than acting/looking sexy.
Oh! Our floor between the water heater and the furnace has been getting higher and higher and we could not figure out why. This has been slowly happening for several years, which I thought Piper was peeing there or Phin’s ice cubes were melting there (he loved to play soccer with ice). Then, it started dipping. The hills and dips really escalated within the past month or two, so Adam cut the flooring and peeled it back and the subfloor is drenched under there. No leaky washer, water heater, or dishwasher. From what he could find online, it seems our water heater is boiling over and soaking into the floor, which is possibly OSB, probably lower quality something else. Another part of the floor to replace!
I really can’t be mad about the house because I’m too happy to have my husband back, honestly. Mom sure did a number on us when she died.
Piper Paws
Piper is gone. She was supposed to be put to sleep last Saturday but we had to reschedule for yesterday. She spent the weekend on my desk. She used the bathroom there on a pee pad and she couldn’t even stand or squat because of her leg. I cried all last week and this week. She was just the sweetest, most loving (to humans) little girl, and I miss her so much.
Her being gone has made me think of Mom, which has made me think of my brother. I don’t know what I’m going to do when it’s Phin’s time. Piper was for me, but she chose Adam, although she loved both of us. When Sprinkles, my other tuxie, was put to sleep (cancer), it was $25. Piper was $108. That just makes me furious. Yes, it was 10 years ago, but there is absolutely no reason for it.
My sweetheart
I’ve been working on my book a lot and I think I accidentally set it to be published on Amazon. I was ordering a proof copy and it popped up that I set it up for publication. It’s not supposed to be released until December! I am hoping I have to approve it or something so I can cancel. The proof wasn’t entirely finished but I wanted to check the formatting and spacing with a physical copy.
My teacher recommended a publishing press (she usually recommends journals) but I’m just not sure. I would love the exposure because I have no following, but I have major RSD. Plus, I would not appreciate edits without my knowledge or approval. Plus, I supposedly get 60% royalties with Amazon, but it’s just not adding up when I set the price. If I price the paperback version at $12 (which is ridiculous), I get $5. I didn’t want to make the price outrageous because that’s not cool, and it costs Amazon only $2.32 to print each book. Very hinky. Capitalism is out of control, or I’m just more aware of it.
~*~Colors of Death~*~
Death leaves a mark
on those left behind —
A tattoo on the soul,
a rainbow of lines.
The deep green of envy
for those who’ve not lost —
Blissfully ignorant of
what love really costs.
The anger burns white,
much hotter than red —
It courses through the chest
and leaves a lingering dread.
Yellow is the fear
to face the world alone —
A fear of being lost
in a world of unknown.
Blue is the calm,
a serene, soothing haze —
Not one to remain,
it hits us in waves.
Red is the love,
the one thing that’s real —
It’s something to cling to
while we try to heal.
~*~Bertrand~*~
Acrostics are a really cool form of poetry and can be fun and challenging to write. Bertrand Russell is a well-known philosopher and I have always loved a certain quote by him.
~*~Bertrand~*~
War.
Does it
Not help you
Determine who lives and
Who dies? Tell me who
Is arrogant enough to believe he’s
Right about who deserves to live, and
Only the chosen ones will remain on Earth.
Who was born into such hatred, and who
Is able to sleep at night knowing the ones
Left will surely spend the rest of their lives broken?
Cari R Esta 