Grief is an assassin
waiting for the pause
between forgetting and remembering
to re-shatter your heart,

leaving you
attempting to find a way
to replace every needle-like shard
while praying 
you don't cut yourself on them

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Pain in Ink. 

How I Learned About the Verdict

Just before he entered
into my house,
he talked about a killer
in the same tones
people talk about a sunny day.

In my house,
I saw the quick double take
when he saw I didn’t match
my not-all-that-new last name.

In my house,
I tried not to look at
the logo on his hat
(which my husband told me later
was the first hint).

In my house,
I made sure to craft the cadence of my voice,
not too formal, nor too casual,
because I can't really shapeshift.

In my house,
the visit was quick.
I tried to tell myself 
I was imagining things.
(My husband said I wasn’t.)

In my house,
I turned away 
from well-intentioned statements
I was too tired to deal with.

In my house,
I agreed with my husband,
some things could wait for another day
and said a quiet thank you
to the locks on the door.

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings #3 prompt, A Different Interpretation

Final Girl and the Big Bang

Everything I love was born in an explosion-
in the unmaking of worlds
down to their atoms.

I’ve been the final girl
at the end of all my personal apocalypses,

when all that’s left is the waiting
for the shattering of light
to remind me of the breath and heat
still inside me.

Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Always Learning. I also was partially inspired by the idea of the Final Girl trope, which is all over the place in Halloween movies.