A January day that lives forever

In my head —
      I’ve tried a million
      times to go back
      to that day —
tried to change
      my choices
begged a do-over
      from the universe
I’ve crippled myself with
      guilt
      sorrow
thrashing the quicksand
      sinking in
      layers of grief
fighting a sticky web
      trapped in
      regret-regret-regret
I don’t even care about
      my own
      broken heart
I’m sorry
      I broke yours

—Terri Guillemets, 2019 November 24th

Memories shiver

Why does cold weather refresh old griefs?
      More quiet for reflection?
      Longer nights to lay awake?
Like citrus, grief is a winter fruit.

—Terri Guillemets, 2019 November 24th

Fantastic shores

in bed at night his mind had a ferocious imagination
reality and unreality haunted his turbulent brain
the years ticked, an infinite clock of destiny
searching moonlight for the promise of a future
his reveries of heart were coasting on a fairy’s wing
as the world and universe drifted by fantastic shores
but the sea, work, and women — physical outlets —
were his anchor — something old, hard, and soft

Led by fierce instinct, he was on the verge of God.

—Terri Guillemets, 2019 August 20th, scrambled blackout poetry created from F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, 1925, pages 98–99 of the Scribner 2004 trade paperback

End’s edge

Old age —
gazing into the night
with half-closed eyes
Life had become
a shadow of Time

—Terri Guillemets, 2019 August 3rd, scrambled blackout poetry created from Rafe Martin, Birdwing, 2005, pages 92–93