when you hang out
with the dead
you see the living 
more clearly

i am peeling
a hard boiled egg

a snake sheds it skin

my daughter 
was quiet 
when she was born

i was quiet 
when she was 
born

death was close
then
and they thought
i didn't know

her father
was in the next room
when they told
him we might 
not make it

the angel of death told me
they were wrong
he didn't have his scythe
he told me everything
i needed to know


he brought my sister
a stillborn baby
showed
me her death

her name was
sabrina
she gave me
the gift of 
my mother's pain

i promised her
i would name my
child after her
if she would just
save her

she left
during the epidural
told me the name
i chose for my daughter
was the right name

Annabelle
was stuck
and then she wasn't

she was born
on Halloween
they put
a pumpkin hat
on her head

i held her
when i couldn't
remember she 
was mine

he sat in 
the corner
a stranger
 they praised
for not 
watching football
while i almost
died

i looked
down at this
this new human
being 

and i promised
to protect her 
from this fucked
up world
​

my daughter sits
on the edge of 
my bed
with her back to me

i reach out my arms
because i am so 
relieved to see her

but she doesn't turn around
just drifts 
farther and farther
in to the distance
like a lost balloon

then i wake up
to another day
without her
go back to sleep
until the sun goes down
the sun is an insult
to my grief

the only way 
i get to see her now
are in dreams
and nightmares
i accept these 
inconsistent gifts

and when the sadness
sets in
i float in the dark waters
of my subconscious

tell myself
i am not drowning
i am not drowning

which obviously means
i am in denial
that i am drowning

A crow with a broken
wing sits upon my shoulder

Two clawfoot  bath tubs 
are overflowing
such an obvious
metaphor for tears

Hekate leads the way
torch in hand

I am Demeter
grief consumes me

Persephone is gone
humanity is in peril

The ascent
has not come
this search
in the dark
seems endless

Shadows flicker
upon the wall
jack o lantern grins

my crow
says we are running
out of time

by September 
she will have 
eaten the seeds

my only child

daughter
don't gather 
the flowers
they give you

it's a trick

he takes 
you where
i can't find you

then the world
changes
​forever

 Joan Didion
sits in the corner
chain smoking

our anxiety vibrates on 
the same plane

"a babysitter once 
told me that my daughter
had death in her aura"

i tell her
i know your story 

she stares me down
asks me
"so what's new in the whiskey business?"

i know him too
and point to
the angel of death
who lights her umpteenth cigarette

she stands up 
does a slow tap dance
like the little man
in twin peaks

i look down
and i am laura palmer
in black light
my words
come out backwards

i choke
on secrets
cough up
black ants

Didion's nose is
bleeding 
she tilts her head back

and says
"embrace the dread"
but the ants 
are in my ears now
and instead i hear
embrace the dead

she fades away
until she is 
 a cloud of smoke
in the dark

then says

'there isn't much
of a difference'

there once was a gypsy witch 
who lived in the deep dark wood
she was a solitary witch but she 
occasionally enjoyed the company
of those who wandered near her fire

it was on one of those nights
her daughter was conceived
a man with a name she couldn't
pronounce
lets call him douchebagstilkson
anyway nine months later
daughter of fire was born
and the gypsy witch carried
her everywhere singing her 
songs and telling her stories

douchebagstilkson wandered
every day and all day looking
for brighter shinier things
some days he didn't even notice
he had a daughter of fire

years later when the gypsy witch
had given her heart to the traveling poet
and the daughter of fire was much older
douchebagstilkson started coming 
around wearing white knight armor
and insisted it had always been this
way which confused daughter of fire
and gypsy witch

he didn't tell the gypsy witch
that he planned to gift their daughter
of fire to the ice queen

the gypsy queen sang spells in to the fire
like it was any other day
and when the traveling poet
read her sonnets by the fire at night
she ignored the visions
coming from the crystal ball 
in her caravan

soon the traveling poet was living 
in her caravan with her
and the douchebagstilkson would 
return daughter of fire
with no explanation as to why 
she acted strangely

daughter of fire only ate soup now
and wore heavy winter woolens
on hot summer nights
she smiled less
and became angry with her witch
mother when she wanted her to drink
nettle tea

gypsy witch stayed up all night
worrying 
dead friends started
giving her warnings
telling her that the ice queen is no good
that she would bring danger to daughter of fire

the wandering poet
no longer wandered and he too
worried
daughter of fire used to laugh
and now his jokes fell flat
around the fire

they asked douchebagstilkson
next time he came to get her
what was going on 
and he played dumb
and shined behind his fake white
armor
they even asked the ice queen
on the rare occasion she saw them as people
and she crystallized and iced over at any question
so nothing was ever resolved

gypsy witch became sad all the time
and started talking to the dead 
they always been around but now
visited in droves

she drank mead until vomiting
in to the fire
while the non-wandering poet
held her hair 
and they conversed over the state
of daughter of fires increasingly cold heart

daughter of fire now wanted to live with ice queen
and douchebagstilksen even though gypsy witch hadn't heard
it from her mouth but had to read it on a cruel message from 
the ice queen's royal gmail

the gypsy witch felt hopeless
daughter of fire
was now daughter of ice

the gypsy witch
didn't bother to leave
the caravan anymore
or stoke the fire
she had to melt daughter of fires heart
to bring her home
and defeat the ice queen
but how
she couldn't even get out of bed
and if it weren't for the un-wandering poet's
feeding her berries 
she would have wasted away

 all the ghosts
hanging about 
my sad thought bubbles
trying them on to see
if my pain fits them
it does

i lose weight
in grief
all food tastes
like grey paste

i lose sleep
in grief
closing my eyes
means seeing
more grieving ghosts

sometimes they are helpful
other times not
the one next to me now
keeps cheerfully reminding
me that i could die from a
broken heart at any time
she says the japanese have 
a name for it but she forgets
she read it in a magazine
​when she was alive

my heart hurts now
i think its acid reflux
but my helpful ghost chimes
in that i am probably dying

one of them starts to clap
the other ghosts shake their head
at him
how awkward

i hold my broken heart
while the ghosts
wander around my 
bedroom pretending
they aren't waiting for me to die