sometimes i can read it sometimes the words are not shaped correctly to fit inside my brain with too many sharp edges and pointy parts or balloon sized puffy curves getting stuck in my mind's passageways black smudges saying pushy words on sidewalks on brick walls on signposts and stairwells what are they saying i'm here look at me i own this space not you read my words i dare you i'm here defacing your clean white walls slashing at your rules and hiding in the dark and some call it art and some take a picture one thousand words in a snapshot on bathroom walls or carved in metal doors or stone tagging on train cars rolling through town screaming out heartache obscenities slogans paint over me i dare you you can't wash me off your inner eye don't turn away don't try i am eternal from the beginning of man through millennia crying for lost love for mayhem for mischief or hate crying out on the walls chalk coal or spray paint © by Diane E. Dockum March 28, 2023
Unmoored
I am alive
So they say
Yet it is up for debate
It is true
That I feel like
A hollow log
Floating unmoored
Down a river
Spinning
Turning
Bumping against waves
And other debris
Flotsam and jetsam
In the gin weeds
and pucker brush
Perhaps one day
I will drift ashore
On the other side
copyright by Diane E. Dockum
March 15, 2023
In a Cemetery
I walk among the stones Imagining my body lying Beneath the ground I walk among the stones Wondering where to bury your ashes I am here to buy the ground Our bodies will lie under Side by side Urn by urn To add another stone marker Here in the quiet field where who knows what went on in ancient times I walk and open my spirit To feel the pull To feel the answer I walk and open my heart I think of sleep I think of eternity I think of earthly remains I find our spot I sign the papers Here we will be Maybe remembered By Diane E. Dockum ©September 26, 2022
Solitude
A leaf shudders Without sound As the breeze passes by And no one sees The movement The sun slides across To the other side of day The cicada sings To hear itself The chair on the dock Rocks gently When ripples lift The wooden wharf Eventually two moons One high One floating As the river changes Places with the rain Do tear drops Return as clouds And rain again over Fields of roses? By Diane E. Dockum August 29, 2022
Once
Once, when butter was hard and the best toast came out of a Sunbeam toaster, I ate a vitamin that tasted like rainbows and I held it on my tongue as long as I could Once, when the sun was so hot my sneakers melted on the railroad tracks and the smell of creosote filled my nostrils, I dropped my father's (secretly borrowed) thermos in a ditch, and the inside smashed to pieces I thought, OH NO! he's going to be mad I left it in the ditch My bologna sandwich was dry on the way down It stuck in my throat Once, when the sky was just a blue sheet above the barn, I asked what color God was (trying to figure out if the sky was God) My grandmother said God is the color of all things all at once I sat on the front steps thinking about that and a crow walked by and pecked my ankle OW! I said, and jumped up He got scared and flew off down the old dirt road Disappearing into the thick trees By Diane E. Dockum ©July 29, 2022
There is So Much More to Grief
There is so much more to Grief
When your Husband dies
Sad and lonely, yes
But Grief is so much more besides
Not wanting to go home
Because home was a person
Not a house
Wandering restlessly around your
House as if you were searching for
Something lost, but not sure what it is
Having all kinds of free time
But no interest in your hobbies
No desire to finish that book
No interest in those TV shows
Turning on the TV or Radio just
Because you can’t stand the silence
Turning off the TV or Radio
Because you cannot stand the noise
Having no interest in cooking
A real meal for yourself
Filling your empty place with
This and that from the fridge
Faking interest in topics
That no longer relate in some way
To the love you have lost
Losing an entire day
To nothing but looking at hundreds of
Pictures and reading cards you exchanged
Over and over
Replaying conversations in your head
Reliving those last few precious moments
And desperately wanting to
Be sure they knew just how much they meant to you
It is changes in your body –
Finding gobs of hair in the shower
Feeling aches in your joints and muscles
Including your heart
It is staying up till tomorrow
Resisting sleep trying to figure out
Who you even are now
And what the point of anything is
It is feeling stuck
In a deep dark well
And no one knows
Where you are.
©Diane E. Dockum
June 28, 2022
Other Voices in the Room
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
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
Marble Hill Press 