Charlie’s cough

Charlie grew weaker
from the old
1940s window pane
i’d hear him
then one dusk
in September nothing
a few days
passed i rummaged
the building’s trash
casually looking for
unexpected art supplies
it seemed Charlie’s
kin tossed out
everything that he
possessed and of
no advancement for
them pedigreed relatives
yet in my
quest for treasure
troves i found
from Ohio an
old Glessco bottle

mbrazfield (c) 2015

when the singer dies

the laughter in between the rays of the sun was missing i only noticed three days back when no eyes had shown glimmer or soul all were downcast and on the path cutting through the park the brown quilted fuzz on the cattails had fallen off and the wind and bird beaks carried it off to pollinate and line the nests for spring but the gravel under my low top white converse didn’t sass back with the crunchy feisty sound spurting from each tired step today was the today i had been counting back thousands of todays to my early youth of pink cheeked days by the legs of soldiers brothers wounded in battle combating through life while my post toddler mind wondered why the choir lead was laying down asleep in the blue and silver box as his wife and daughters cried over the flag blanketing him and while my shadow creeps under the shade of the upcoming crabapple trees i came to know this is what happens when the singer dies

clay between the ashes

mbrazfield (c) 2021

to think that beyond shadows
a sun glows she dressed in gold
swatting at her lover heaven
sending radioactive flares of hot love

to think that behind those shadows
i sit silent staring at the calmness
of poppy blossoms along the hills
while the shadows shield a chaos

to think that beneath the shadows
are my remains that partake
in the Maker’s infinity loop
of clay between the ashes

Taino el de abajo

the room is sterile

free from any love germ

only the tiny beasts of whatever

perfect in nature are adored here

in this sterile cold dry room

my gut told me

“She passed.”

referring to the death of an aunt

i hardly knew

i don’t feel grief

not yet

and

as i explained to my-self

some people might never feel it

to mourn loss is difficult

to mourn loss of a loved one is hard

to mourn for and carry a heavy heart for an enemy

is tougher

i don’t feel such loss for the masculine things in life

as i do for the feminine

to have had a physical mother

never to have experienced an emotional mother

or spiritual mother

has been loss

yielding veils of survival

darning lies as i went along

because for this ride

you must be tough

to have had to rip my addiction demons

from me without a cowboy’s hickory stick

to bite on

while all of Murphy’s laws

chose to shred themselves

has left a raw gaping hole

in my crippled soul

yet there is a certain life-long journey

a chipping away of the spirit

the grief polishes

nearly to transparency and vulnerability

that fake shine as seen on t.v.

we can certainly fight

for all our lives

against this erosion

but we will not win

in my age

i can now see

the entirety of who Taino was

what he meant to me

i could not

in my youth

see that deeply yet

*dedicated to Jose Montoya POET

questions

what is it like to sit in silence and hear the sounds of ocean waves playing

what is it like to face the sun and feel the wind cool and soft

what is it like to have lightness and to feel the colors of sea glass through my pores

and why is it that the dock doesnt move me to sleep and instead
i grip with my soul

afraid to drift away

finally relieved

my sister later said
that when mother left
the tears on her velvet cheeks
were like lily petals
time has passed
on most days when
i notice myself in the mirror
memories of her voice and sorrow
crowds my day 
by eve’s time
sitting alone on the porch
some plump flying angel
will rustle up the honey suckle
and a vision of mother i can feel
quiet resting finally relieved