The Awful Month of June

On June 10 my father died. I watched him die. He was at home. I was with him. This is a simplistic, monotonous blog post. It is how I feel. Numb. Alone. Free. There will be evevn more poems about my daddy. He was the rhythm of my life.

A fairly new poem. What do you think?

Inevibility

Waiting for the spotted dog beside me
to be gone, skinless bones buried
under yard trees in perfect grass
we mow and mourn.

Waiting for the father down the road
to finish his fit, at 87,
draped in a flag, tagged out
as if in a game of catch.

Waiting for endings of all beginnings
To wrap our lives in
garments whole and safe as armor,
shielding from the naked chill of loss.

Election 2008 and Innauguration

Left is Tally Sergent, a former student and high-ranking assistant to Hillary Clinton's campaign; center, Hillary Rodham Clinton; Julie Sergent, my Julie, my yearbook editor and friend whom I love and respect; Julie's husband Jay Pyrtle

The quote which lends its name to this blog is from William Shakespeare. Later, Edgar Lee Masters' Spoon River Anthology featured a character who compared his life to a chicken: "Save that a man has an angel's brain, / And sees the ax from the first!

I realize and accept my plight--feel the swish of a swatter and the swing of a fortcoming ax. I will not go without speaking my "piece." Or should I say "peace."

This blog is my attempt to make sense of it all.