the calendar in my mind

September, 7 2017
November 1, 2020
June 8, 1957

with each passing year
the calendar in my mind gets more crowded

guilt and responsibility puddle there
they are the mismatched socks in my top dresser drawer

the day she died
the day he was born
the day they got married

no month goes unscathed

April 8, 2021
May 29, 1984
March 20, 1957

celebrate
memorialize
acknowledge
commemorate

because I am still here, I must remember

August 17, 2012
July 7, 1984
September 7, 2016

Is it an honor or a curse,
living long enough to lose someone?

Is it a blessing or a burden,
to have so many you care about
and days on which you honor them?

November 29, 1993
April 17, 2021
December 15, 2012

These days are bricks
These days are privileges

to have known them
to love them
to hold them in my heart

October 30, 1987
February 2, 2012
October 22, 2021

—-

Explanation of dates used above

September, 7 2017 – the day my father died
November 1, 2020 – the day I got married
June 8, 1957 – the day my dad was born

April 8, 2021 – the day my daughter died
May 29, 1984 – the day my husband was born
March 20, 1957 – the day my mother was born

August 17, 2012 – the day my paternal grandma died
July 7, 1984 – the day my parents got married
September 7, 2016 – the day my aunt died

November 29, 1993 – the day my maternal grandpa died
April 17, 2021 – the day my second godson was baptized
December 15, 2012 – the day my first godson was born

October 30, 1987 – the day my best friend was born
February 2, 2012 – the day my paternal grandpa died
October 22, 2021 – the day my daughter should have been born

When She Speaks

Today as I left work, there was a little girl toting her violin and backpack and chattering away to her violin teacher. It made me think about how much children learn through doing, through trial and error, and how often we more seasoned humans forget that world of experimentation that is childhood.

She is still learning how words work
Meter, flow, pentameter, yes
But also discretion and tact

On the playground, she is learning
who to trust with her secrets

From her car seat, she is learning
how to not just be heard
but to be understood

When she is wailing from her back
in the candy aisle, she is learning
how to argue

So, remember
when she speaks
she is still learning how words work

Paper poems

Here are two new poems I wrote recently. They both reference paper so I thought I would post them together. Though really they aren’t about paper. They are about dealing with being myself and all that that means. Hope you can relate or find the beauty in them and how I process life 🙂

Paper

This?
This is called paper
This is where words go
aka feelings
aka pain
aka everything I hide behind “Oh, fine”
and “Good, how are you?”
everything I bury under K-dramas and Yuengling

Paper is for the scary things
Paper is for
“Why did she die?”
and
“What if I’m not good enough?”
Paper can handle rage
It is not intimidated by ugly crying

Paper doesn’t try and fix it
Paper doesn’t run from it
Paper absorbs
Paper reflects
Paper doesn’t listen
Paper makes me hear myself

This is paper
I am writing
on paper
and that is enough
for now

On paper

in between my lungs lies a magnet 
and You are it’s mate
i feel the pull within me
like something is trying to rip out of my chest
tear the wall of my cardiac muscle
split my sternum and
squelch through my epidermis

yet

as much as i feel a pull
i also feel a hole
my magnet is incomplete
disconnected from Yours
my magnet is here inside me
but Yours is under a pillow
inside a furniture store
at the bottom of the ocean
on mars

and

this pulling and longing
is as faint as a vibrating phone in a thunderstorm
i am pulled by this echo of a memory of a dream long forgotten
further away than the past choices i never made
more painful than the memory of the daughter i never met
You draw me
faintly
and i draw You
fitfully
the echo of a dream of the God i never knew

I can do both

Thoughts on the inauguration

Today, our country gets
its second Catholic president
and its first female vice president

As a Catholic woman,
I think it’s pretty cool
to have more people like me representing me

As a Catholic woman,
I am saddened to think
of the things they might do that will
hurt the common good and
the dignity of every human life

I can feel both

As a person who thrives in boundaries,
I am hopeful for a change in tone,
a return to the dignity of the office
for more truth and less rhetoric

As a person with nuanced beliefs,
I am hopeful for a leader that models respect
for more listening to understand multiple ways to see one set of facts
to understand why the person with whom one disagrees
can disagree for genuine reasons

I can hope for both

As a person demoralized by rule breaking,
I pray for justice

As an empathetic person,
I pray for mercy and compassion

I can pray for both

Make no mistake;
I don’t expect our new president
to be our new savior
I expect him to be a flawed human

Yet I still think
that today can be a fresh start
a step forward
and a return to the good we once had

I can think both

May our new leaders be
humble humans
who are always learning
admitting mistakes
and striving to do better
to be better
to inspire good
for the good of all

And I can
Feel
Hope
Pray and
Think
all of these things
At the same time

And so can you

Because see, we are each complicated, messy, flawed, disjointed, beautiful humans
Just like we were made to be
So feel all your feelings and hope all your hopes
You can do both

We can all do both
Together
Let’s give each other space to be both
Today and tomorrow
and all the tomorrows after that

We are a nation of both
Let’s embrace it

“It gets better”: A Christmas poem

I talked to a man at a bar in Killarney yesterday

He had lost his dad last year

I told him that the first year is the hardest

but

that it gets better

I was wrong

It doesn’t get better

It just gets different.

Year one:

You miss him so much

that you are too blinded by grief

to do anything but pretend to be happy

Sometimes that works

and you actually are.

Year two:

You genuinely miss him and feel it

but the death itself is far enough in the past

that you can feel whole while talking about him

“Remember how frustrated he would get when we waited until afternoon on Christmas to open presents?”

“Remember how sad he was that his family never came to visit at Christmas?”

“Remember how much he loved Fritos and cottage cheese?”

Year three:

You have enough distance from his death that the pain of it has softened

but so have your memories

You don’t think of him near as often as you used to

Seeing his favorite color doesn’t always make you cry

And the guilt and fear of forgetting him

the man who raised you

That is worse than the initial pain of loss

So, man at the bar, I was wrong

when I told you that grief gets better with time

It doesn’t get better

It’s always awful

It’s just different.

Unleashed

Heads up, this poem is written for grown ups. If your parents wouldn’t consider you a grown up, then pretend that this page is filled with something gross like Brussels sprouts or homework and go look up clips of people tripping on banana peels on YouTube or something.

—

I have this photo of me
that mom and I took
in the hotel parking lot after
dad’s burial service

I love my face
in this image
I’m smiling
but it’s not a smile of frosting and sunrises

It’s a fuck you smile

That smile says:
fuck you death
fuck you suffering
fuck you emotional pain
fuck you miscommunication
and uncharity
and rejection
fuck you isolation
and anonymity
and loneliness

And my eyes
they tell you
I have lived through some shit
that I know things

and I don’t give a damn if
you know that I know them
because I know that I know them
and the people who love me
know that I know them

They know, we know, that
I am a fucking badass queen
that I am fierce and powerful
and that my vulnerability
makes me even more
fierce and more
powerful than any tank, bomb,
or nuclear weapon

I know things
I have been through things
Nothing in this world can destroy me
for who I am was not made to stay in this world

I am built for glory
I will live forever
I am unleashed
Fuck you Devil
I am Veronica
I will not be tamed.

Home Again for the First Time

As a Roman Catholic, the Vatican is the center of it all for me. I wrote this a few months ago, when I visited St. Peter’s Basilica for the first time.

Help me remember
this feeling.
Later
when feeling is hard
and priorities more
confused
Help me remember
your tall ceilings
and echoing voices
harmonies and footsteps
You beckon me. Come home
to this place
I’ve never been before
Come to me my love
Yes
I’ve come home.

At Peter’s Feet

I wrote this a few months back, when I visited St. Peter’s Basilica for the first time.

For all the ones I’ve left behind
For all the ones forgotten
For all those to whom I’ve been unkind
For those I have begotten

I place them here at your feet
Do with them what you will
Just know I wished the best for them
And I wish it still.

How to get to heaven

There is no magic cure
no
quick fix
no easy bake oven
degreaser
10 Minute Abs
“5 Easy Steps
to a Holier You!”
nope

It’s broke ass backbreaking tired lonely grueling work
without
thank yous
or
raises
or
hugs

you.
just.
do.
it.

and keep doing it.
and then…
you do it some more

you work your ass off
and no one thanks you for it.
until
one day…
you die
and then hopefully…
you live.

10/12/18

If I sit in the woods long enough, will the answers appear?

Carved into a tree…spelled out in pebbles on the stream bed?

If I sit here long enough, will I know?

Or do You plan to leave me here

Unknowing

The cacophony of the swollen river keeps time with the cacophony in my head

And still You leave me here

My pride demands more of You

My despair expects nothing

I remain alone