Petechial View…Behind The Tombstone 017
ignoring all but my own perspective, wrongly lying to myself
laying here in the muddy grass gasping to catch my breath i focus on the beautiful contrast dark trees in front of morning blue or is it just petechial hemorrhaging spreading through my view?
i cannot feel a thing but wetness and ears that ring dare not try to speak tears running down my cheek was it now we were meet? wait a minute what’s down by my feet
are you here? is that you?
this was not on the plan to do dark trees in front of morning blue or is it just petechial hemorrhaging spreading through my view?
please say somethin’ please comment spent my whole life writing in torment are the trees getting larger? or is it time for my departure?
“God damn. What the hell was mom dealing with? How could she keep this to herself and not ask for help? I mean seriously. What the fuck. This poetry of hers is out there. I don’t even want to read anymore of them. Doesn’t matter where or how I find them. I can’t take this. This was mom! How could I have been so ignorant, so fucking blind?”
Shaking my head in despair I let out a sigh and slouch forward letting my back curve. I was sitting so upright and rigid as I read that last one, unconsciously biting my lip. I could taste a bit of copper.
I imagine her laying in the muddy grass looking up at the trees. “Was this when she said she fell last year? When she ‘walked it off’ but should’ve went to the doc for her head? Why didn’t we check on her more hun?”
Laying there, she turns her head to look back at me and her hair falls down covering her face. Half slurring she says “What? You still reading that crazy shit from your mom? Do something helpful for once and go get me some more wine. She was loony and that’s that.”
I gently go to move her sweaty bangs out of her eyes. Swatting my hand she says “Just go!”
“Jesus. You don’t have to be so fucking rude.”
She turns her back to me and makes some “hmmpphh” noise.
Gathering up all the papers, I notice one titled ‘That One It Can’t Be’ … That One It Can't Be...Behind The Tombstone 012 she used to say 'be careful what you wish for' do your stretches take your meds that's all they ever said behind their… www.seymourtoa.com …and head downstairs muttering “Pfft. Talk about my mom like that. Go get your own fucking wine.”
The dog trails me downstairs and curls up next to my feet at the couch. You know, the one where I found this new stash of mom’s poetry earlier today. I try to wrap my head around why mom would hide her writings.
One of the truly passionate about her craft, she was so proud of all the work she put into her writing career. All the research she’d do. Leaving no stone unturned once she set her mind on a topic. With each book came new subjects she learned.
Towards the end she got really good with botany and old native history and folklore. She would keep her flower beds so bountiful and all those ornamental shrubs. She had this one row of Holly bushes lined up and always pruned perfect. It was her prized flower bed.
Scratching the dog’s ears I say to him “Let’s just sleep down here tonight.” I focus on the ticktock of the cuckoo clock on the fireplace mantle. It’s like a hypnotic metronome and before I know it…
More of this unfolds …Behind The Tombstone Thank you for reading. And please remember,
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“Take the day. Before the day takes you.” — Seymour Toa