summer of bloode

with an e so it won't come up
in the same search , a thousand entries down,
as the band or horror show.

july 3 i began to bleed again.
heavy massive attacks. bloodstains
in the bathroom. we don't care.
driving mercury marquis in our dreams.
yeah, i love that song.

a good friend told me bloated.
i saw an fb pix and i have to agree.
but maybe that's just my fat content
on display for all of us to see.

not eating more per se,
but eating later, and quite a bit over fifty
but not quite on the down side
i chalk the baby bump up to


so yeah, operation on the looming.
six weeks recovery/ i don't think so.
it's more like i'll be back when the pto runs out.
tho i could use those 40 hrs i got in long term
after. hell, i ddin't get that much with either of my babes
now they gonna remove the machine and i can
write a book? i think

i think i'll be back in 2 so that won't be happening.
no heavy lifting. but you're so heavy in my arms.
what happened to you i can't change
or maybe i don't want to. it's you that wants to change.
can we. are we able to? or do we just
keep slogging the same patterns because it's easier omg
i hate the signs of life in the meat puppet.


but ok. a picture of my room.
the clothes you gave me from your closet
like sediment from the bay on yhe floor.
a multicoloured window
 treatement lounges atop 700 thread count sheets
new in spring, now stained ever so slightly
with the trials of my uterus beside its empty twin
under a open drawer spilling more bounty
from your sea.


the dresser itself littered
a  coney island after sandy
checkbook,empty pill bottles, vanilla body
butter, lip gloss, werther's toffee, handleless
brush, vaseline, torn raggedy
ann and andy dolls, empty
werther's candy wrapper, spare key,five
pound trigger card, coffee cup with coffee,
announcement for your grad, a glass from hawaii
it says so on the decal, bone handle knife given
to me by my grandfather or you by yours
insence/poker stick, envelopes with secrets inside
voter id card, ticket stub from last year's renfest,
sudafed.


there's more but by now i've lost you.
it's ok. my need to write is independent of your need to read.




you worry about
the puncture wound but that's not a problem
yet.  it's how am i gonna get through
four hours of aquarium with my daughter.
better take a stress tab cuz thar, be sharks.

(that's what emily knew
that you are me and i am you)


so love, this is the equivalent, do you see?
little books bound with twine,  hidden
in dear one's pockets. they may know
to take a look. my sister has the letters
my mom wrote/ while she was going
 through cancer/to me because i was the one
they sent away. and i am forty and still
 parsing this out and i am fifty and still
parsing this out and i am seeking unspoken
questions and their answers long after
the gong stopped ringing. i stike it again.
i like the sound.



all this to aviod the phantom in the mirror.
sagging jawline, droopy lids, baggy eyes.
how did the old crone i always saw
come to now? heh. i sposed that's time's magic.



but that don't worry me much.
i am ok with not dealing in flesh trade.
love me for who i am
even when she's a selfish bitch.


i will soak the sheets in cold water.
i will go out into the day and enjoy
the feel of sun and spray , employ
all my skills of love with my daughter.

xoxo