Healthy Regret

There once was a shopper so brave,
Who skipped all the Frito and Layz
But come evening, alack
With a craving attack
She stared out at the night in a daze.  

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 21, 2026

Ordinary days can fool you into
believing that your life is depleted.
routine blurs the precious details, 
making it easy to overlook the 
quiet miracles unfolding around you.
Yet, even in the mundane, there is 
hidden beauty waiting to be noticed.

Who am I now? What do I do now?
My life is so different from what it 
used to be. I find myself standing at 
the threshold of what was and what is,
uncertain yet quietly brave. 
Old routines have scattered like leaves on the wind, 
and each day I sift through their absence,
discovering new fragments of myself 
in the quiet spaces. 
Transformation rarely announces itself 
with grandeur; it arrives in silences 
and subtle shifts, in the questions that echo within,
guiding me toward a self I am still
learning to recognize.

I am an observer of my own life.
Feeling detached makes a lonely ache inside me.
Often, I witness moments pass as if 
through a pane of glass, yearning to step closer 
but unsure how to cross the distance. 
Still, in that ache, there is a quiet hope 
that presence will one day return, 
reconnecting me to the beauty and 
meaning that persist, even when 
I cannot always feel them.

In dreams I work too hard, I hurry, 
I struggle and yet at the end I wake up tired 
in the quiet realization that the twisty fight 
was only in my mind

Sometimes, it feels as though my subconscious 
is trying to teach me lessons I can't grasp 
during waking hours. The exhaustion lingers, 
a gentle reminder that even in rest, 
my worries and desires persist, swirling 
beneath the surface. 
I realize that releasing these battles—
letting go just a little—
might bring me the peace I've been searching for.


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 20, 2026

Your shoes still sit in the kitchen closet,
A hardening leather pair collecting dust.
Outlines of your feet that walked the yard you mowed,
The grass stains still visible on the soles.
I cannot bring myself to wash or throw away
These relics of your existence.

The morning light filters through curtains 
And touches the bedroom walls you painted
Casting shadows where your laughter used to live, 
Where your voice would whisper my name like a prayer.
I find myself reaching across the bed at dawn, 
My fingers searching for the warmth of your shoulder
Finding only cool sheets and the echo of dreams.
 
Your books remain open to pages you'll never finish.
Bookmarks suspended in stories that wait,
Like I wait for footsteps that will not come, 
For keys that will not turn,
For a door that stays silent.

The garden shed you built stays quiet without you.
Tools that remain unused in a springtime that feels colder now, 
Their patina carrying whispers of your hands in the soil 
Your smile in the spring rain.

I wear your blue jean jacket sometimes
Breathing in the fading scent of your cologne and kindness,
Wrapping myself in denim and memories
In the phantom embrace of arms that once held
My whole world together.
 
Time moves like honey now -
Thick and golden and slow. 
Each day a page in a book I am learning to read alone.
Each sunset a reminder that love remains
Even when the beloved has become Starlight. 


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 19, 2026


.

Through sleepy eyes I watch the sunshine
Caress the grass
I know the smell of spring
But though the outdoors calls me
I cannot go
Another cold, with all its misery
Has gripped me
My yard needs care
This would be the perfect day
To clear the fallen limbs and leaves
To soak the light into my skin
To breathe in the newness of the season
Feeling very sorry for myself
I wrap the blanket higher around my chin
And blow my nose for the umpteenth time
Craving bone broth and toast
 

By Diane E. Dockum
©April 18, 2026

You understand me, O tender soul,
Who walks through shadowed halls
Where echoes of your former self still weep

You carry scars like autumn's gentle calls
Each wound a seed that slumbers buried deep
How beautiful this melancholy dance

Of shedding skin you've outgrown through the years,
Though bittersweet, the backward longing glance
at where you were, dissolves in grateful tears.

The mirror shows a stranger's knowing eyes
Where simplicity once dwelt in younger days, 
Yet wisdom blooms where innocence dies
Like flowers pushing through forgotten graves.

O growth, you are a river running slow, 
Carving canyons where the heart learns to grow.
Each layer reveals what we were meant to know;
That breaking is how wounded vessels glow.

The person that you left behind still calls,
From photographs and memories grown dim,
The ghost that haunts these newly painted walls,
While you become the song you used to hum. 



By Diane E. Dockum
©April 17, 2026

We mapped our trip on GPS, packed hopes and snacks for miles—
The radio humming smooth jazz, our faces wide with smiles.
Yet clouds rolled in, lightning and wind, rain blurred the exit signs,
And what we’d planned unraveled fast in unexpected lines.

The roadside diner’s battered booth, a refuge from the storm,
Served laughter we had never planned, a different kind of warm.
We found new stories in the detour, soft comfort in the change,
The journey’s gift: a gentle shift, our spirits rearranged.

Though what we set out for was lost, we gained what couldn’t be charted—
Friendship, found in winding roads, and memories uncharted.
Sometimes, the best of what we have comes not from what we planned,
But from the turns we didn’t choose, and holding someone’s hand.


by Diane E. Dockum
©April 16, 2026

The marrow of my bones
Began to vibrate
Before the sun came up
My heartbeat began to
Keep me awake
Thudding in my left ear
As I lay on my pillow
Before the first bird began to sing
Then, awareness of the morning train
Far off low sound with a staccato high-pitched accent
Reverberated through the still air
My heartbeat quickened 
The train announced its presence
From 90 miles away across the rolling hills
Closer each minute with a steady hum
That began to dance with my heartbeat
In and out of step
Until it crossed the nearby street just east of me
I rolled over
Knowing that all my life the sound of a train
Had worked its way into my bones
Like all the ticking clocks
Like the phrase “peace be with you”
Like the phrase “and also with you”
And the low thrum in the pre-dawn 
Was as constant as my breath


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 15, 2026

Personality Pillows



They cheer me, these
Beady black eyes and embroidered smiles
Gazing at me from a couch or chair.
Soft fuzz to hold to my cheek –

A weight in my arms instead
Of a hug – 
From fabric friends,
Beans in their paws

I comfortably roll between by fingers.
Pressing them to my lips,
Replacing body heat with a furry texture.
On a rainy day

When thunder rolls
Or sleep demands attention,
How can you not be cheered
By these personality pillows?


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 14, 2026

Upon this threshold, childhood whispers call,
Soft echoes shaped by laughter long ago.

Yet time has drawn our lives apart, a wall
Of sorrow built from loss I struggle to show.

Your days seem bright, your love intact and warm,
While mine are shaded, haunted by the night.

I fear my grief might cloud, might soon transform
This meeting to a burden out of sight.

Should I confess the ache that stains my heart,
Or shield my wounds and let joy fill the air?

Will common ground remain, or drift apart
As silence grows between the truths we bear?

Still, hope persists; perhaps old ties can mend,
And in your gaze, I might find light again.


by Diane E. Dockum
©April 13, 2026

A veil of gauze drapes over us.
Bare branches claw
 At the sky,
But green is coming along,
Pushing through brown leaves
On wet ground.
Wake up, wake up!
You’ve been sleeping too long.
O, Robins and Cardinals, 
Send urgent clear songs
To our Mother, Gaia.
Wake up, wake up!
We have waited too long.



By Diane E. Dockum
©April 12, 2026

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