The Dying Cycles a collection of poetry

Living after trauma and seeking the universe through nature. A collection of poetry.

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https://www.wattpad.com/story/102199619-the-dying-cycles

‘For those living after trauma and seeking the universe through nature. A collection of poetry.’

Poem excerpt: MINNOWS

An ache tears into a memory
of your child hand reaching for minnows

Dark blue and small fingers

All those tiny universal dots of fish
we never caught them
and the search felt so infinite

You will lay in bed tonight
thinking again of the tiny silver lights
shattering into darker, deeper places
being the images of life that will escape you

A calm death is in us
Yours has begun to speak a whisper

I’ve heard this noise before,
laying on the dock
when the waves shuddered against us
black trees lent forward
and you watched me drink the water
before I cried for less

You’re scared now
As I was then

Dark blue

but in your hand,
is mine

and small fingers.

Continue reading “The Dying Cycles a collection of poetry”

There is nothing more stilling..

..helplessness can feel like uselessness and stumble downwards from there into a pit of questionable existential nothingness.

These past days have been hard. Particularly hard.

I’ve been sad and morose in my energies.

I feel that this is can be somewhat equitable, though, to the weather. We have had a harsh freeze descend in Alaska. On a day that I had to go to the bank, my long winter coat couldn’t suffice against the -23 weather. I had to wear a thick bathrobe on top of a knit sweater under my coat. The young man at the bank scoffed at our local forecast and informed me that out by the lake he woke up to -35 below. Most things in Alaska can be boiled down to competition, endurance being our proudest sport.

And then

Before the freeze was over, my uncle passed away in his sleep. Cold.

Everything “..moves forward while your soul tears backwards.”

We know that he missed a pancake breakfast at his church in town. His neighbor called on his cabin to discover my uncle wasn’t feeling well. The neighbor had offered to take him to the hospital but my uncle had refused, insisting that no hospital could help him. By the next morning, my uncle was gone.

Initially, I didn’t know how to process the news. I picked up my yarn and started a new blanket. (the stitch was… sc, hdc, dc, all in one then skip two and repeat) I was up well past midnight loosing myself in the methodical meditation. There really is no immediate closure to be had upon the news of death. I realized I was also particularly afraid of being unable to mend the grief of others. Helplessness can feel like uselessness and stumble downwards from there into a pit of questionable existential nothingness.

As a consideration from God though, the weather did ease before the day of the funeral. We had been massively dumped on with the most amount of snow to be seen all winter collectively but the temperatures did warm. My Uncle’s best friend, a man almost more large and grizzly than him, ended the service by low singing a hymn of blues unto the lord.

It rained afterwards. The rain came upon us overnight and stopped by morning. The rising temperatures defeated us also as the top layer of snow melted and froze. My driveway right now, is dangerous. I had a man stop by earlier to buy a vintage hand made sock monkey I listed on fb marketplace and he almost fell before he made it to my door.

The weather in Alaska is cruel.

The danger in this cruelty is that it is also beautiful.

smclopez.