153 Sorrow and grieving poems

It's snowing this afternoon and there are no flowers. There is only this sound of falling, quiet and remote, Like the memory of scales descending the white keys Of a childhood piano—outside the window, palms! And the heavy head of the cereus, inclining, Soon to let down its white or yellow-white. Now, only these poor snow-flowers in a heap, Like the memory of a white dress cast down . . . So much has fallen. And I, who have listened for a step All afternoon, hear it now, but already falling away, Already in memory. And the terrible scales descending On the silent piano; the snow; and the absent flowers abounding.

I lift my body one leg then another over the cold curve of the claw-foot tub Like a walking stick with a colossal cocoon attached A beast and a mutant   I am this Hooked on the steam of hot water I Negotiate stretched skin   a sore spine   the splitting of imminent birth What do you want Mammoth   a domemoon stomach Carved by spidery trails     former settlement You in there baby think you’re ready for this Sing soprano notes   sing sounds of upness Says the midwife She says go ahead   smoke some marijuana you see she’s our motherherb   sacred medicine   not for foolery and selfishness   never to be used in that other way you know she works deeply niece   can take care those injuries bad mister   wrecks   he set     snaring you this medicine   will   show you    the things killing all of us

A year later i still talk to them when i'm driving or doing dishes or when something happens they would have loved i think that's okay