I don't know where I am yet heading,

the storms push relentlessly on,

I'm point man for nature's black fury,

safe harbor and peace are all gone.

​

No cease to be found in the tirade.

No lull between storms for a breath,

no time yet to think past this moment,

no rock found to sit on for rest.

​

Each day holds blood as a warning,

each wave seems to reach a new peak,

swamping and slamming and drowning,

winds rise to a wretched new shriek.

​

. . . . .

A Blue Suitcase is all you took

coming down the stairs,

​

and I don't even have that memory.

It is borrowed from my brothers and sisters

who tell me I was there when you left for good.

​

In the wake of that little Blue Suitcase

came your cowardice,

leaving while Dad was at work,

stunning and confusing the children

because they alone had to deal with it.

​

The tidal wave that Blue Suitcase unleashed,

while you were high and dry,

didn't quite drown out the shame

that rained down from every direction.

​

. . . . .

You learned to fight for your piece of life,

to survive in hostile environments,

to shut up or shut down to survive.

​

To hold your breath and wait for the

hammer to fall,

and expect nothing,

so you won't be disappointed,

but be prepared for anything.

​

You learned that hope is not something

for you to dwell on,

because you have been taught by others'

harsh lessons that your dreams are

beyond your reach.

​

. . . . .

I have no illusions about you and me.

​

You have your game plan,

and I have mine.

At the moment, they don't coincide

which is too bad.

​

God knows I have an easy time with you

and we sleep well together,

even when you snore,

and when you're away, I miss you.

​

But not enough.

​

. . . . .