Bruised

Today was not too bad.  Good thing I stayed busy at work.  Was the exact day that our Beloved one departed from us.  The year seemed to go by so quickly but yet was so difficult for us all.  I want to thank each and every person out there that shared in our grief and supported us.  The journey of healing is not over but it does get easier.  As a part of the healing process, I often turned to writing.  I hope that this poem is received as being straight from the heart and encourages someone to move forward despite the grief.

 

BRUISED  by Monica Terry

20/7/2020

Dark scarlet resulted as capillaries burst underneath brown, supple skin as a result of the initial impact of the horrific injury. As the words, “Hu Neftar” departed from his lips I began to replay my life’s history.  What? Within 24 hours I need to come up with an obiturary?

Blue and purple brilliantly emerged with the tenderness of the skin that received blood into surrounding tissues as we stood and looked at the body before the funeral.  Reality setting in, nociceptors delayed sending a proper signal that was computable.  Stop!  Aren’t there loopholes in the CNS for situations so Immutable?

Pale green didn’t want to show itself so quickly, because that would mean time marching on without him here; as birthdays, Bar Mitzvahs, graduations occur and we all try to persevere.  Is time speeding up?  Maybe he knew the end was very near.  I would like to think that when he was brought back that he said, “Peace out Ya’ll, keep faith, nothing to fear”.

Yellow-brown introduces a new reality as old hemoglobin is absorbed and we make an attempt not to show the discoloration.  The fear that the old and new friends when we speak of him may think it’s an unhealthy fixation.  Really?  And I ask that with a bit of indignation.

Eventually, I know without a doubt that a Pure brown will emerge again, and perhaps other bruises will appear to join the colorful array on our skin; each one’s dermis displaying what phase we are currently in.  It’s bruises that make us who we are so we rise to win……time…. time….and time again.

 

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Photo credit:  Lifeat139a

This Mother’s Love

A poem of reflection by Monica Terry “AKA” Taptutor

 

Anxious to witness your first breath, in constant dread of your last

Bleaching out the blood, coffee and red wine stains of your not so stellar past

Will turn entire cities upside down when you’re off the radar

Nearly fulfilling profile of a cyber stalker demanding you “Change that Avatar”

Fearlessly race up to save you at a mountain’s highest pinnacle

Ignoring naysayers, haters, and  fairweather friends with comments so cynical

Message to the ruler of this world, HANDS OFF, can’t have my offspring

Fight to my last heartbeat, breath, and brainwave; every fiber of my being

To make sure you feel THIS MOTHER’S LOVE!

 

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