(#7) Recovery is a Process by Kinsey Wedsworth

When my heart is heavy inside my chest, I don’t know how to make the weight easier to bear. 

A rock hangs from my throat and pulls my head in a low bow. After I’ve cried out a sea of tears, it will float for a time and all feels fine. Yet again, the sea will recede and the rock drifts down again and with it my vibrancy.

I’ve tried to break the string. Burn it in half. Saw it in two. Untie the knot holding the rock. Complete removal becomes too ambitious, nothing but a desperate dream.

So I learned to build a pulley system and slowly transformed my throat into an engineering marvel. The next time that rock sinks deep into my gut, my head will tip backwards, my chin sent up, and I again can view the world.

(#8) We Named Her Willow

Feral puppy lived out east

Drank from the ditch, only dreamed of a feast

Her family was her pack

Always had each other’s back

One day a man picked up his gun

Reduced puppy’s pack to just one

She wouldn’t leave Mom and he felt pity

And so puppy was whisked away to the city. 

Feral puppy now is on a bed

Only her blinking proves she’s not dead

Nice humans feed her and give her a home

But all she wants is to be alone

A kiss here and bacon there

Walks in the sun and a plush red chair

Yet still puppy wants to fight

She argues and wants to bite

Tall puppy sits down one day

She leans into me and doesn’t look away

I see deep into honey brown eyes

Reflected back is a love that rarely lies

December arrives with wind and cold

Along with memories not quite old

But puppy doesn’t face either with fear

She’s got a new pack she holds so dear