A Poem for Grandma

a large tree falls over in the forest
a small corner of life realigns itself
shifts
Each branch of the tree is broken
by gravity, by other objects, by sheer force, by age.
The tree no longer had strong roots.
It could no longer take in oxygen

asphixiation

That tree was there before I was born
and I knew it all through my life
there were things I would tell the tree
that I've never told another living soul.
The tree breathed gently, lived gently
in the grace of god and
She told me always, quietly, gently
that I needed to do what was right for me.

One day I walked into the forest and
the tree was no longer standing.
She had fallen. Shifted. Redirected.
She lay broken on the forest floor, shattered remnants
of her beautiful branches
scattered

I did not try to pick her up.

I knew I could not. I knew in the deepest part of my soul that this was her broken end.

I asked her spirit to leave in peace
because I knew it was the right thing to do
I felt in my heart that my request was true
Yet no mortal coil shuffling
hurts more than one we've blessed

I have not been back to the forest
in over a month
to see her wood overgrown with new spring life.
I do not know what she looks like now
or even for sure where she rests. Perhaps she has been collected.

All I know is that my dear dear friend
is missing from my life.
I know a void. It has a certain shape, a certain size.
A certain voice and a way of certain embrace.

I am left believing it was hard for her to go.
The wind tugged at her weak roots and
her leaves had trouble
taking in oxygen

I did not want her to stay like that.

I am angry that we could not have fixed it.

In my grief all I have to give
is my hair
all I have is to live
my life
All I know are the words
to a prayer.

independance day

Gold and beaded jewellery
don't make it up to me
but I know you would
if you could
oh you would if you could
concrete floor cold beneath my feet
something is wrong but I
can't admit defeat
it's noting tangible and I know
you'd make it disappear
with your kisses
if you'd kiss me
any day above ground is a good day
but today is too much
I need to liberate
this mortal coil
who do you think I am?
Who do you want me to be?
because
I would if I could
you know it
if I could make everyting alright
with a simple hug
it would be so.
I don't know
anymore
maybe I never knew
anything
maybe for once I'm
wrong
or wronged?

breaking in a Moleskine

It's 1 a.m.
I'm a writer and an insomniac
I can't find my pen
does that mean you're sleeping
with the enemy
I'm doing it again
it's a compulsion
it's like treachery
stuff to do
piling up in my room
but I can't seem to detach
long enough
the written world
that which cannot be heard
fills my head, consumes
the minutes tick by
into hours that fly
I've stopped asking why I
don't sleep
it's not the company I keep or
the companionship I seek
when there's pen put to paper
I grow weak

Are you still up?

I'm Irish. (for Bill Barrett, R.I.P.)

Do you want to know me? I asked you a question. Are you going to answer or are you too busy staring at my eyes? Yeah that's what I am. Blue eyes, black hair. I colour the hair. Sure I do shave it clean off too. You ask me, long hair only brings a woman trouble but you didn't ask me. Nobody asked me. Nobody asked me what I wanted to be. My ancestors didn't give me a fucking choice. Nobody ever handed us anything on a silver platter. We wouldn't've accepted it anyway. But that's how it goes. Take it. Nothing I have in this world I didn't make for myself. You heard me. Don't need a university education to be somebody. But being somebody won't get you through the hard times. God gets you through the hard times. Hard times? Not just people dying, stuff like that, but family things. You know what I mean. Church got us feeling so shameful we're scared to try to change the bad things because we're not good enough. So we distance ourselves from the problem, anger as a shield. You want to know where my passion comes from, my anger? Ask my ancestors. Ask why the county's not named after us anymore. Ask why we drink like fish out of water, struggling to breath. Ask why we struggle our whole lives trying to BE somebody only to find (shame shame) that it's not good enough either, it doesn't measure up. Want out of the cycle? You have to be somebody. But fame and notoriety go hand in fucking hand. My grandfather killed himself. He had it all. He made pictures of famous people. My silence in the family is his blood on my hands. You want me to suck it up? Aw princess, whatsamatter? You don't like it when I sound like this? Don't worry baby, I can handle it, I'm Irish, remember? Sit down and eat your potatoes. I made them just for you. No, really, it's fine. I'll just go wash my hands. I'm fine, really. Eat before it gets cold.