OTHER VOICES IN THE ROOM – The absence of –. The hours pass. Artificial sound becomes A crutch of sorts In the waiting rooms In this house of ours Where you are not –. Where you are no more Yet are So much here –. You are here with me In the echoes of my thoughts And my footsteps on the stairs. You are behind me With your hand on the Small of my back As we climb to our bed And listen to Bedtime stories on the Artificial app, And as we drift off to sleep Those other voices in the room Fade into the absence of your Body and The hours pass. ©Diane E. Dockum Thursday, June 9th, 2022
Author: marblehillpress
Two Days
His last day. The wait, the false hope Chatting to relatives Wasting my words Holding my calm Watching Wishing for privacy Not getting time alone Too much talking Closeting emotions Being his rock
First day of widowhood. Gaping void Shock, emptiness Loud silence Too much to think about Too much fog in my brain Heart crushing ache Crashing reality Vacant recliner Profound loneliness Pictures of memories
by Diane E. Dockum ©April 10, 2022
Vaguely Spring
It’s almost here that time of year when seasons change The ground takes off her wedding gown exposing brown and green a faded green awaits the sun for now, she sleeps while seedlings stretch and yawn her child-lings yet to be And gentle wisps of moving air will jostle stubborn leaves Like teacups on the sodden grass they fill with sugar snow and yet the sun, though cold and vague, shows dusty falling flakes Here and there their contrast shows against the hedge’s row. On the tops of cedar tips, the early spring remains just out of reach and white still grips the fingertips of tender growing trees.
by Diane E. Dockum
© April 1, 2022
Seventh Month
Rolled over for a cuddle Forgot I was a widow Swear I felt you Get in bed last night Could almost hear you breathing But then the sun came up Only to expose the pile of pillows On your side of the bed
The sun has come and gone Thirteen times this week The sound in my ears Is the vibration of the earth In the quiet of the day It reaches a high pitch When darkness comes And I pull the curtains closed
Today the frozen rain Hits my windows hard I try not to eat too much But wander from room to room Without getting anything done Your closet is still full of shirts I cannot bear to pack And dust is gathered in your shoes
You’re never coming back Oh, by the way I eat in the kitchen now Instead of the living room sofa Watching television It makes me feel like a person With a place mat and silverware In the correct places January 9, 2022 ©Diane E. Dockum
The Presence of Your Absence
The presence of your absence Walks with me today Every cell of my body Aches and wanted you to stay I feel paralyzed, suspended As if half of me is gone But my thoughts persist and tell me To survive, I must walk on This path is not mapped out No signposts point the way Though others have walked before me Their footprints have washed away My mirror shows a different face Of whom I cannot say The person that I was before Went away with you that day The presence of your absence Walks beside me every day On a journey through the darkest night I try to find my way My view from this new window Of the world’s forever changed The person that I was before Will never be the same ©Diane E. Dockum 10-18-2021
MY LOVE
I would rather stay asleep than wake
Remembering that you have died
The stillness of the house
Is always a rude awakening
Throwing salt into my wounds
I do not want to spend my life picking at scabs
I do not want to spend my life
Forgetting about our love
Or waving goodbye as you recede
Into the aether
Your energy and heat
Are something I ache for
You have changed from flesh and blood
And beauty to something new
I hang pictures of your past faces
on the walls
Memories of your touch
Invade my mind at odd moments
I overflow with tears
Flashing back to your last breath
You were still warm when
I closed your eyes and mouth
And slipped your wedding ring
From your finger onto mine
Did you hear my last goodbye?
Did you hear my last I love you?
Did you feel
my last kisses?
Diane E. Dockum
August 29, 2021
A study of Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte
Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte (Un dimanche après-midi à l’Ile de la Grande Jatte), Georges Seurat, 1884-1886.
They watch the children
But the monkey and the dogs
Go unnoticed.
Just before they arrived
Her husband couldn’t find his watch
So time got away from them
The sun was hot
And she forgot to put a bottle of water
In the picnic basket
So they drank wine in the shade
And ate cucumber sandwiches
The children ran down the green
And disappeared beyond the trees
And just before the painting was finished
The lady in the gray dress leaned back
Placing her hand directly in dog mess
You see her there wiping it off
With a white handkerchief
By Diane E. Dockum
April 30, 2018
HIDE AWAY
Door closed to dull the sounds
Of voices from the TV news
Another helicopter down
Black and white the picture beams
Into the room
Dying dreams
Of young men as they
Run across the boggy ground
Bending low under the guns
My homework spilled across my sheets
My bedspread pink and soft
I’m writing poetry instead of sums
©April 29, 2018
by Diane E. Dockum
Crossing Over
I feel the approaching rumble
Of the train as it crosses the trestle
Over the river
And slides into town
The patter of rain sooths my soul.
I turn out the lights, and pull the shades.
I relax in stages,
As the train’s slow thunder fades
Into the distance
The vanishing light of
The day dwindles softly
And into the night
©April 28, 2018
by Diane E. Dockum
READ TO ME
Under the yellow lamp with me
My mother sits in bed
With story book upon her knee
And pictures in my head
The wonder of the words she reads
With images so clear
Pages turn with daring deeds
To delight my youthful ear
The warmth of light, the pillow soft
I snuggle in her arms
And enter into fairyland
With all its pixie charms
© April 27, 2018
by Diane E. Dockum
Marble Hill Press 