Alone

It wasn’t always just bitter Saturday evenings

With broken hearts exchanged between us

There were moments when we’d see hope or fire

Burning in the warmth of our connection

The children never saw it once you fell in love with the bottle

Who lived in the basement and under the bed

Sometimes in your car or coat pocket

It bended us, that secret drink that wasn’t really a secret

Making us strangers in the most unsafe way

I remember coming home to the toddler, drinking your juice

Which they had added batteries to while your body spilled off the couch

In a lifeless tumble while Lightening McQueen’s face

Flashed on the menu screen, hours after the movie ending

You hadn’t died that night, not in a way that’s easy to understand

But I saw the person I loved was swallowed whole

By vapors of grain and years of grief

When spring comes I remember you for the promise you were

Capstone of safety and belongings, together we were supposed to

Overcome it all and find purpose

Only I found purpose in the baby and you found it in the bottle

Who never loved you back.

The Truth of Spring

By alisa muñiz all rights reserved 2016

Spring has sprung beneath the scattered white pine needles

Metal scrapes against the earth and misplaced rocks
Arms move back and forth
Up and down, over flip
Repeat
These are my days, as feet step in to spongey soaked earth
Of lighter sweaters and pants but no coat, hat or gloves
Where wind whips and whirls under the entangled spruces
Land mines of post winter dog shit litters the ground
Teasing and taunting strained slumbering back muscles
That even after the bitter cold months spent praying for warmth
Spring might awaken hope for budding regrowth and ice cream trucks
There will still be left over shit to take care of in unexpected places
Before you can walk without fear.

Withering Irises

Alisa Muniz Blanchard all rights reserved

Rumbling breath beating
Like hearts in the dark morning night
Clustered together we clench on to this momIRIS and Lenaent
Of whispering transition
Unknown mornings
I sit holding this old crone in one arm
With my young babe in the other
As fingers reach to
Feel breath
Feel memories
In your silly fur

I wish it would snow today
So that you could
Wrap your face in white
And vanishing snowballs
One more time
Before we have to face the truth
That you are so much a part of us
In your pitter patter panting presence,
You have done your work old girl
Building a home around us
Before we even knew we needed one.

Death

Alisa Muniz Blanchard all rights reserved

Death, it isn’t always quick, easy or gentle. Often there are heart wrenching moments of hope that “it” will get better.

But how does mystery heal or get better?

In what ways can wholeness mend except through transmutation?

So we sit, lingering in our aching hearts, as you take your time to finish the work you came to do.

Time makes only room to love you more.

RIP

Alisa Muniz Blanchard all rights reserved

The mysteries of existence
Well in tears
Like drops of light
Rolling down
My daughter’s
Sweet cheeks
Rivers and life
Open vulnerable space
In her mother’s heart.

                                        -rip Danny the bunny