What Will Your Last Shelter Look Like? (A Poem for Day Nine of PAD)

I'm keeping it simple tonight. Below is my poem for Day Nine of PAD.

2014 APRIL PAD CHALLENGE: DAY 9

"For today’s prompt, write a shelter poem. Shelter might be a structure like a house, apartment, or hotel. Shelter could be a tent or cardboard box. Shelter could be an umbrella, overpass, cave, or car. Shelter could be a state of mind, part of a money laundering scheme, or any number of interpretations."

Where He Now Lives

The Niche

After he’s placed inside, the crowd gathers,
forming a half-circle, eyes shifted
downwards, feeling him overhead.
Behind them, a lone koi lifts its mouth 

above the water, sucking for air, sustenance.
A blond-haired child of five sobs quietly,
the acacia leaves rustling father’s last breath.

*****

Six Years Gone - Missing Dad

Tomorrow is the anniversary of my father’s death, but September also marks another anniversary. It’s the month in 2010 that I started Mouse Tales Press, named in honor of my father’s childhood nickname for me.

Every year that has passed until now, I’ve had a hard time believing he is gone. Somehow, some time this year, I finally accepted it. Or maybe it has just sunk in that it's real.

My emotions, once raw and close to the surface, now feel buried. I’ve somehow shut them away. But I don’t want to be like that. I want to feel them. I don’t think tears or sadness are a sign of weakness. I think they are a sign of strength.  

Anyway, I sense this is why I’ve struggled with my writing the past couple of months.

Yesterday though, I had some sort of break in that struggle. I started a series of poems that gave me an idea for a handmade poetry/art book. Two of the poems are being sent out on postcards, so I can’t reveal those yet.

Below is a taste of the project that may mean nothing to anyone else. Still, I feel it’s something I have to do.

Look Carefully and You Will See

Six Years Gone

On the eve of your (death)
anniversary, a lone shoe
follows me down streets, busy
and quiet. I wonder
who lost that shoe. I realize
you have no feet
anymore. Suddenly,
jogging makes me cry.

*****

(I wrote this last night. Today is the anniversary.)

*****

Crushed

Sad news brings me back to those feelings again. Ugh. Now that I'm nearing 50, I guess it will be a regular event from now on. Getting out the yuck and then moving on. 

The below poem was written for the Day 5 prompt, "crush."

He'll Get Us All Eventually

Death Crush

There’s no time for deals
when he knocks on your door,
waiting to serve papers, deliver
your soul to Heaven
or Hell, scrape what is left
of what now means nothing
to you, laugh at the ones
he torments when you leave
them behind.

*****