To lose you
would be a sea without waves
moan of Winter wind
outside as I lay cold in bed.
To lose you
would be the wilt of wildflowers
a bow of small heads around the globe.
My eyes squeezed shut
effort of not remembering.
To lose you
would be loss for those
yet to hear your hearty chuckle,
low and warm
its own kind of song.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
What used to feel immense
bewildering to follow
was now only steps away
like a runway lit up
with clear directional intention
She knew. Undeniable as the sky
the river of calm inside her.
This choice as easy as avoiding
sidewalk cracks. And there he stood.
Touching him. Toward together.
Their waters join
to flow toward the ocean.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Light does not fall on us equally.
There are hours of gentle illumination, while some remain in shadow.
Random flashes which leave you for no reason at the front of the line.
Or the end, randomly burned, scorched,
with head shaking disbelief. Tranquil dusk light on leaves.
Other days blinded into paralysis, unable to see a way forward.
I remain in a thundercloud waiting room, counting shadows like minutes.
Weatherizing my soul before the next hurricane.
Steadfast, determined in my stance, for a return of the glow
In stillness it will find me.
Sun’s warm hand on my back again.
This too shall pass.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
Like the filthy inside out sock
squished at the bottom of the hamper
under stench of damp rags.
Life can feel like that place.
Maybe it is time to do some laundry.
There is no rule, no prize for
handling it alone,
an unnecessary isolation.
The borrowed red sweatshirt
arms wide on the top of the mound
is not an accidental reminder of love.
Call. Just call.
Call before you change your mind.
That someone has seen dirt before
and will listen.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
If you are struggling today check out this blog, The Mighty, You are not alone.
As I traverse
what do my footprints say?
Those who walk beside
a step behind and to the left will
see them. Mud messages dried
to become solid.
When my legs no longer walk
my tacks will speak out
a decodable message.
I hope you decipher
“Don’t give up.
Keep looking for the footprints
I am with you.”
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
In dedication to Mother Teresa (1910 – 1997) “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”
Could this be the final day
of an autumn that I thought would last?
A mellowing of red between us
once crackling emotions now dust bits
collected in a whirling dervish
carried away in the wind.
Now I am an empty street waiting
for the street light to click on.
Predictable and ever awed
by the chance
to begin again.
© Alicia Grimshaw Reposting from 2016
Awakened to the heaviness. A push
to breathe through a cage too small.
Despair sits on her chest, hands over her mouth.
Alone on this journey, he is no companion
just a magnetic pull toward the mattress
that she wishes never to leave.
He knows what others do not.
That she can’t put it down.
An unseeable stone she carries alone.
How much easier to be pulled under
than to keep afloat.
A desire for lightness like dust
in a ray of light.
If she only knew
invisible hands surround.
Waiting. Just waiting.
For her to say the word.
Help.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
National Suicide Prevention Week September 10 – 16, 2017
http://stopasuicide.org/index.php
Reach out. Listen. You could save a life.
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 