Questioning Dad

Did he think of leaving his car running, windows down, on an unfrequented bridge with music blaring while he stood on the railing?

Or did he ponder using his dad’s shotgun at the cabin?  It would be weeks before anyone would find him.

Did he consider leaving his car running in the garage, putting his head in the stove, or hanging himself by the cabin beams?

Did he contemplate slitting his wrists in the tub?  No, his favorite chair.  Or, what about in the middle of the woods at the cabin?

Did he think about throwing himself in front of a bus or taking a bath with a radio?

I wonder.

I wonder why he chose pills.  Did he imagine they would make him fall fast asleep and it would be painless?

I wonder who he thought about before he died.  I wonder if he thought about the baby inside my belly.

I wonder why he decided to do it in his bed.  Did he want to be comfortable or did he feel safe there?

I wonder if he knew it would cause blood to come out of his mouth and drip onto his sheets.

I wonder why he mailed out letters to his family.  I received a birthday card and a short, apology letter.

I wonder if he knew it would take us four days to find him.

I wonder if he knew he would have a closed casket.

I wonder if he knew he would be buried on Friday, June 13th, a day before my birthday. Then, the day after was Father’s Day.

I wonder if he knew I miscarried the baby a day after his death.

I wonder if he thought about depression being genetic and what would happen if he left us.



My finger lightly touches the middle of my forehead,

Then briefly, the middle of my chest.

My finger brisks across my left and right shoulder,

And I kneel to confess.


She closed her eyes tightly enough to see midnight. The sweet, momentary embrace of darkness teased her life.

Sometimes, she feels like Thea, mother of the light and of dawn. While the light and dawn sleep, she becomes the mother of the moon.

Tonight, she dances in the light of each street lamp. Happily jumping to each.

The street lamps are dark by day and at night, awake at last. She floods in with control of the tides to love you so fast. Grasping water feels good to the touch, but to cup enough – is a feat at best. Your dying hearts thirst she will quench, and mend you until you’re better again. She will leave when she’s fulfilled, but dreams of staying still.

She then closed her heart up tight. Tucked in the moon and said goodnight.

Dawn and light awake.

And today is another sun-filled day.

Love Kills

Silver sprang from her jagged, lightning hair.

Her eyes perpetuated a seductive stare.

She looked quite beautifully young,

and was profoundly quick-tongued.

He would be drawn to this muse

Like the rest of the inconsolable fools.

She knew there was only one mate for her soul,

So she tasted the lips of many men and more.

Some were too sweet and candied.

Some were vicious or too randy.

The green-eyed Medusa had high standards.

She observed every man’s quip and tendency.

To find her soulmate – to find her destiny.

Along he came, from another world.

He listened to the stories of the muse he was told.

He was drawn to her like a demented madman.

He wanted to be her lover and companion.

He scoured the town looking for his love.

He found her lying on her back near a river – looking at the sky above.

Her green eyes were closed,

and in her hand, addressed to him- a single note.

“When you find my dead and lonely frame – kiss me once and remember my lovesick name.”

Lose Myself in You

Mercurial melodies rule me.

The serenading songs of persuasion

and sweet lies to fill me up till I start running over.

I must contain myself or I will lose myself in you.

I must stay confined in this body of mine

as I lay on top of yours.

You caress my curves,

pleading me with your hands to surrender

as your mouth speaks not a word,

but kisses my neck.

Your eyes say you love me right now.

I can see the bright truth in them,

but what about tomorrow?

Will you still love me then?

Your eyes beg me to sing the sweet words first,

but my heart and my brain are in a feud.

My brain believes love is a curse,

but my heart feels you are the truth.

My Heart is in Chicago

I look to the North and see Chicago,

Such a pretty city.

I look to the South to the field,

Where you bit me.

The Chinese lantern you lit for our love,

Was blue like your sadness.

It lifted off with a coerced shove,

Then you left me with my madness.

I blame myself for your baggage.

It’s been lost in Indianapolis.

Just an Indiana girl living in a lonely world.

Taking trains to feel my equilibrium swirl.

Your love follows me

It has for ten years

I seem to cower and not retreat.

Tell me that you want me here.

Sister Olivia

“Everything happens for a reason,” does not begin to explain my interaction with Sister Olivia.  Only the faithless would argue it was coincidental.  A few weeks ago, I was planning a trip back home, away from Georgia, away from my illness, and away from “military life.”  It was a much needed trip because my (soon to be) ex-husband was deployed and I needed someone, anyone.  Most of all, I needed family.  Quite honestly, I was in a state of depression.  I was so close to the edge, that I needed to be lassoed back to health.

So, I booked the round-trip plane ticket home, and noticed something unusual.  My confirmation number went a little something like this: xxxx-666-xxx.  Some may not even notice such synchronized numbers, some might.  I am the type to notice.  I am, also, the type to have avid panic attacks and possibly pessimist my way through life.  Needless to say, I was a little frightened.

As I am walking towards my departure gate, I see a nun sitting by herself.  I sit across from the woman and decide to make small-talk with her.  I asked her if she had ever heard of Sister Maria de Agreda.  If you have not heard of Sister Maria de Agreda, I highly recommend searching the Internet about her or reading the book “The Lady in Blue” – Javier Sierra (based on true events.)  After I asked the woman if she had heard of said Sister, I came to realize Sister Olivia does not speak English fluently, well, hardly at all really.  However, she said she had heard of her and seemed surprised that I knew of her.  We utilized her Spanish to English dictionary, while I utilized my smartphone to communicate.

Over the intercom, there was a notification that the plane would be an hour behind.  Sister Olivia noticed my confusion, so I once again used my smartphone to notify her (in Spanish) that the plane was running late.  Recognizing the time we had to spare, we communicated to each other that I needed to use the restroom and she would like a snack.  I walked with her (slowly, Sister Olivia is probably in her mid-60’s or 70’s) to the snack station and told her I would meet her right back at the departure gate.

I met Sister Olivia back at the gate, where I was greeted with another update on the delay of the plane.  It was going to be another hour.  Sister Olivia noticed my confusion, so I updated her (again) on the delay.  So, I decided to try to get to know Sister Olivia and with the language barrier, it was difficult.  I learned that Sister Olivia was traveling to a church to teach and her “Sisters” were coming to pick her up from the airport.  I, also, learned that after her 10-day stay at the church, she would travel to Mexico, and then travel to the Holy Land.

I was awestruck by this woman and the goodness about her.  Then, of course, a voice interrupts my awe over the intercom with another notification.  We have to move gates.  Move gates?  Sister Olivia noticed my utter confusion even more, as well as my lack of patience.  She asked me what they had said over the intercom and I updated her.  Sister Olivia looked so confused and scared all at the same time.  She was putting her trust in me, at this point, to get her to her destination.  However, it was clear she was hesitant to put the responsibility in my hands.

Sister Olivia and I moved to the appropriate gate, only to find out that the plane was FOUR hours behind.  At this point, I was stressed.  I took my medicine in front of Sister Olivia, and she looked at me and asked, “Sick?”  I nodded my head “yes” and used my smartphone to tell her that I have severe panic attacks sometimes.  Sister Olivia opened her dictionary and calmly said, “Patience, patience.”  I closed my eyes, and repeated the words in my head.

Finally, it was time to board.  I looked at her ticket to direct her to the right row and seat and realized my seat was only one row behind hers.  We sit, go through the flight routine, and learn that the flight was delayed four hours because the pilot’s father had died.  The pilot needed to return to his hometown (Chicago.)  So, of course, they needed a new pilot, which took some time.  I was saddened by the news and said a prayer for the pilot and his family.  The flight attendant then told us we may move to a different seat if we would like because the plane was not full.  Sister Olivia’s seat was diagonal from mine and I saw her wave me over.

I happily moved to sit next to her and the flight attendant asked us if we would like anything to drink.  Sister Olivia and I both wanted coffee.  I sat for a bit before I needed to use the restroom.  I saw the flight attendant on my way to the restroom talking to a woman in the back, but did not say anything about the coffee because I figured she was busy or perhaps the coffee was still brewing.  I returned to my seat and the flight attendant approached us.  The flight attendant went on and on about how sorry she was for forgetting our coffee.  Of course, I said it was okay (I am not one to complain.)

The flight attendant brings us back our coffee, still apologetic, grabs the menu, and asks if she may give us a complimentary snack.  She asked if a Rice Krispie Treat sounded nice with our coffee.  I obliged, pointed to the picture for Sister Olivia, and we decided, “Hey, why not?”

The flight attendant brought us two, large Rice Krispie Treats and would not accept a tip from me.  Sister Olivia looked confused as if I was paying for the treats.  I tried to explain, somehow, that it was just a tip.  It seemed to register because as soon as the flight attendant walked away.  Sister Olivia said, “See?  Patience, patience.”

I thought a lot about how much I helped Sister Olivia navigate her way through the madness of the Atlanta airport.  Then, I realized, I think she helped me more.  I was already scared to board the plane because of my xxxx-666-xxx confirmation number, I was stressed because of the continuous delays, and I could have had a panic attack at any moment.  Maybe Sister Olivia helped calm me?  What I do know about Sister Olivia is she taught me patience and whenever I feel a panic attack coming on, I am angry about traffic when driving, or things are just not going my way; I calmly repeat: “Patience…patience…” to myself.  My experience seemed nothing short of divine intervention, a lesson of life, and a free Rice Krispie Treat.