Leave the Bones

There are ill-formed dreams on which
I can no longer stand. They have become
the wilted flowers that languish
in vases on cemetery grounds. No one waters
the flowers. The flowers are forgotten as quickly
as the ones who died. There’s no honor to be found
in death, only rest. Occasionally
I will choose to make a pillow out of the cold
granite headstone of someone I once loved.
No I don’t stop loving those who no longer live.
But love only matters to the living, the dead cannot
feel the warm embrace of love. With my head
resting against the stone, I fall into the
fleeting and illusory image of me curled up on the lap
of an ancestor. All that go before me, I count
as my ancestors because they know more than me.
They have unearthed the mystery of what lies
on the other side of death.
It is not their unfulfilled dreams for me that I hear
beating against the inside of the wooden coffins.
It’s an abusive rainstorm falling in torrential sheets
drenching me and trying to revive all the wilted flowers.
Death is just a state from which no one
ever returns. No matter how much rain falls,
it will never be enough to wash away the debris
or unearth the bones, a way to bring our dead back to us.
I have not been trying to breathe life back into
the dreams of those who died before me. But life
has a way of evolving, bringing back days and ways
that we once thought long gone. Ideas cradled in
forgotten history, but even forgotten history
fights to live. Don’t rearrange the bones. Leave
them as they lie. Leave the bones where they lie.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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Questions

Why do you write love letters on battle lines?
Why do you sing love songs to your enemy, the one
who’s trying to defeat you? Why do you cry tears of
regret because love has never had a place in war? Why
do you dress battle scars up in diamonds, trying to pretend
this is not a war? Is it because you know every war
will have a winner and every war will make someone a
loser? You will never win the war by chasing ghosts
across a barren battlefield, but that’s a lesson every
soldier must learn on his own. One day.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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The Anniversary

It’s been two years. The anniversary. The day
I discovered that blood doesn’t wash away
as easily as drawings made with crayons,
& that the left over images of chubby fingers wrapped
around waxy pencils, even if they were scented,
would never be enough to chase away
the images of dying men falling to the ground,
being felled like so many trees. The images fueled
by childish imaginations & drawn by scarlet crayons
held in small childish hands, equally indistinguishable
as the drawing your blood made on the walkway
two years ago today. When you were little, I’d spend hours trying
to decipher drawings that covered the walls before
I’d get down on my knees & wash it all away.
But I hardly bothered to search for any discernible
images in the splatters of blood that soaked the ground.
Down on bended knee, I tried to scrub the rocks clean
but nothing could make the stains vanish. You fell down,
the largest tree around & yes, when you fell, it did
make a sound. Blood gurgling in your throat drowning
any last words you might try to utter. Like a pot of water
boiling on the stove. Those aren’t coffee grounds
at the bottom of my cup, it’s mud & your blood. It’s
the leftover crumbles of unanswered questions. Did your
soul linger, looking over my shoulder as I tried to wash
your blood away? Do you come around occasionally to see
if the one who killed you ever visits the place where your
life was stolen away? Do you ever come back to celebrate
the anniversary? Will you come back today?
I will line the sidewalks with candles
knowing the light will provide a way for you to find your way
back home. I hope your soul is hovering nearby expectantly &
that you will meet me this year to celebrate our anniversary.
Two years ago today: the day your life was stolen
away from you & the day I was forced to murder my own son.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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make love

i’ve made love so
many times, i’m exhausted

yet i still find myself
waiting for the love that will

take my breath away
but leave me wanting more.

i’m still waiting for you

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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If You Love Me

“Everybody has to make choices– choices they must live with, sometimes die with.” –Colin Channer

“A soul mate is not found; a soul mate is recognized.” –Vironika Tugaleva

He said, “If you love me
you must learn to hold water
in the palm of your hands &
never let one drop fall. Become
like the river that always flows calmly
and I thought,
“What does that mean?”
And I thought of the things
I’ve seen pulled from the river:
football helmets
doll heads
tires
boots
beer bottles
mannequin legs and heads
What do they do with the torso? 
a body whose feet was
encased in concrete.
And I knew that he was saying
loving him would not be easy for me
it wouldn’t protect me
it wouldn’t comfort me
in fact, it would almost kill me
a thing that only existed to destroy me.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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The Dark Figure

“I don’t paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.” –Frida Kahlo

He appeared in her dreams
a dark menace who caught up
her breaths like fluttering butterflies
in a net. She tried to pry her own
eyes open when she realized she was
dying but he blinded her & even
with her eyes wide open she failed to see
the dark figure standing right beside her.
When she woke up screaming, he fled
taking all her dreams with him &
leaving shadows of darkness behind.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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A War I Couldn’t Win

My life is a war that was never meant to be
won. A war that was over before I was even
born. Did you not know that if he couldn’t love you
he would not choose to love me? You had to know
the one who never tried to love you
couldn’t possibly love me. And you stood by,
pretended not to see as he unraveled pieces of
my life. You knew he would hurt me while you were
trying to pretend that love was the reason you chose
to put me in the line of fire with you. And do you know
there are still nights when I force myself not to fall
asleep because I’m trying to wound up the parts of me
that you let him unravel from me. Why did you
destroy parts of me that you were supposed to
protect? Is it because you knew my life would be
a war I’d never be able to win?

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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Dream in a Mirror

How much longer can I bear the weight
of missing you? How much longer can I
rely on phantom kisses to remind me
how it used to be? I carry remembrances
of times you spent holding me, babying me up.
But that all now seems like nothing more
than a dream that existed in a mirror.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

 

broken mirror 1

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Six Months

 

The news they bring
is never good.
It’s why they shield
their faces.
But the eyes
never lie & I
saw in her eyes
the truth
before she could
utter it.
Six months.
The most clichéd
death sentence
that I’d never heard,
not yet,
and that’s why
a chuckle
almost escaped
my mouth. But I
waited for her
to confirm
the truth I saw
in her eyes.
Then
a litany of whys
caught up
in my throat.
Why me?
Why now?
We won’t give up
without a fight,
she said. My life
had become a
battle
to be won.
But I’d battled
for my life
before
and already knew
how this battle
would end.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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You Killed Me

Your touch
murdered something
in me. You told me
it’d be over soon.
Like Nazi murderers
who killed millions
you tricked me
into believing
my death wouldn’t
matter. If that’s
true, why do I
sit up every night
crying over the loss
of the one who died
the first time you
touched me &
the ones I’m sure
have died since then.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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