We Are

Grief older than the sea

Rawer than the cliff-face

Rips at the tops of the grove

We are giants, we are holy

Trembling is not in our nature

But our roots are being shaken

There is death colouring the sky

Slashing through the pines

And the taste of it is bitterness

Smell the sulphur as the lightning

Strikes,  splits an elder to the ground

The thunder booms triumphant

And we know the game is on - but

We bend together, try for grouping

Try for strengthening - stand as one

It is cyclical we know and can tell

This through the rings that count

Our age - but we also know the time

And feel it to the marrow of our wood

When the sky grows copper bright

And then is limned with lightning too

We whisper urgently as we huddle

Ever closer listening as the storm

Begins to take apart our lower limbs

It sounds like hunting season as shots

Are ringing out - each time a branch

Breaks off and one of us comes closer

To dying while the storm goes raging on

The storm goes raging on bringing death

With every crash, every flash, every sound

And all we can do in our terror, in our fear

Is stand bravely, and hold to our truth

We are older than the wind, we are ancient

We have outlived such chaos before

We must trust we will outlive this

As some of us fly apart in the fierceness

Of the end of days, the rest carry on

It is our destiny, our fate and we embrace it

We are the ones, we will stand tall, we are.

S.E.Ingraham

Over Dinner

Somewhere between the cheesecake

And the devils on horseback

They revisit a topic best left alone

The evening begun with such promise —

fine wine, crisp linen, dimmer switch low

music soft and tasteful; kitchen smells scrumptious—

Rapidly deteriorates, spins with concentric determination

Down, down, down — to the dark place

All too familiar to them both

She feels if she stretches her arms out,

Her hands will feel  cold, damp—

No, not damp —slimy —slimy, wet walls

And she knows the walls will be closing

in on them, on her

He, on the other hand, feels as if the ground

is disappearing beneath their feet

That the more they talk, the less real his world

is becoming

Until soon it and he, will become entirely weightless

He knows there will be no keeping him grounded

That his drifting away from her will have

the permanence of death

Still – try as they might to quell them,

Bitter words, crisp as alum, fall from their lips

Spill like old blood on the empty china plates

Plinking like coins, each one louder,

Uglier than the last

Her hands fly to her face

Touch the heat gathered there and

the salty tears leaking freely

Her voice is stayed and she stares

at him blankly, wondering again,

How is it they have arrived at this place...

The silence gathers like snowdrifts,

catches his ear; he stops to listen,

Stares into her leaking eyes

They stretch their hands towards each other

Grasping for some remnant of their love,

Her lips tremble with the absurdity

Of the notion that they may try

This staying together thing  another time;

How can she consider the idea

For even a second, when they both come

From such vastly different places,

Remember such very different pasts

She tries to remind herself how badly

He rewrites her history

How embellishment is one thing but now,

Every recital  of her transgressions

Has her growing more evil, less well

Then, tonight – oh my God – tonight

She’d almost forgotten that they’d

actually opened

Old-new wounds, some things she’d believed

scarred over

Were apparently never fully slashed apart

in the first place

The fact of the fiction has her feeling surreal

She can't tell which way is up, north, down, east

Her discombobulation so great, she feels

physically unwell

How could her memory be this faulty?

Could she really be this far off the mark?

She feels demented – she knows she's

subject to sadness

And bouts of mania – but demented?

Does she also have to accept that?

Dementia seems such an old person’s thing...

Besides she couldn’t be wrong

about all of her history —

Could she?

S.E.Ingraham©

Deep Tissue Bruising

It is late in the day before she crawls

From the edge of the woods where

She's lain crumpled since her last beating

Since coming to,  her head is crashing

Crazily and her skin burns so, she fears

She might actually be glowing ...

Except for a tiny blood blackened split

Over one eyebrow, she appears unharmed;

Her bruises are of the deep-tissue type

And she knows as she draws to a crouch

First,  then finally hauls herself to her feet,

Walking is going to cause pain so severe

It will pierce every single part of her -

Bursting flowers of agony like fireworks;

It's not  the first time, she's had to chisel out

A normal seeming demeanor to get her

Through, but it's getting closer to the last

S.E.Ingraham©