More and Less

Starting over
is possible even
with this cloud
the way it is
its shape
more middle than
beginning
and wearing pink
the baby girl color
I've grown to like
on you
less
and more
on me.

Fire

Sometimes there isn't anything to say, except that the problem is bigger than we are. Bigger than all of us. I cannot expect them to respond to his crisis in the way that I'd like them to--in the way that he needs them to. It's unrealistic. They are people rendered incapable. By circumstances not chosen. By ignorance. By disbelief. By their own pain. By fear. By a belief system that focuses on prayer and hope to move things along--as people lay dying, suffering in the wake of such. People are busy. People work. People have lives, responsibilities, bills to pay. People have five grown children. People wouldn't know crisis, or how to prevent it, if it kicked them in the face.

I'm tired of the hypocrisy. Hypocrisy is everywhere. I know. I get that. But I'm angry, in particular, with this hypocrisy. The preached dogma that family is important, the most important and then this. The clear message that family doesn't come first. Not him. Not her. Not me. Not any of us. Family comes first when it is convenient and fits into the schedule and doesn't interfere with previous commitments. I have learned that family only comes first when someone cries "fire." And even then it's debatable. And even then this is better than nothing. I think.

A Laugh

I don't watch the guy--I don't watch much of anything lately except old Buffy episodes and children--but TDS-Secretary's Day made me laugh. Laugh out loud.

Out

crawling up, out of muck
old as the beginning
like fish growing legs
and lungs
to walk out water
leviathan, beast
I am

Winter Color