i know you know –

i know you know –
the inability to understand
peace when the sun yanks
you from the cheap IKEA
coffin you built by hand –
alive but struggling to
breathe from last nights
dealings with death.
you were so sure
she’d find you un-moving
under the duvet –
heart stopped-
lungs restless-
pants full of shit.
but here you are
almost wishing it was real –
swallowing slow dissolving
sorrows – bitter. life saving.
i know you –
you’re getting tired.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

Mommy Medicated

every time i die i ask god to
take the years stolen. grant
them to the growing babe
sleeping under the t.v. glare.

take the years they stole. grant
me another restless night of sleep
while I await my millionth demise.
it contorts into a welcome calm-

another restless night of sleep-
where i am ripped open before life
exposed to all my waking fears-
creating every new tomorrow.

i am ripped open before life-
undressed before the doctors
with their magic medication.
eager to mend my mind.

undressed before the doctors-
that as a mother i may be unfit
to take a babe and mold
a healthy man.

as a mother i may be unfit
every time i die. i ask god to
grant me the years i’ve lost.
another chance to make it right.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

 

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Mainly for my classes. I’ve been having some major health problems, caring for my kiddo, trying to finish my BA and write my senior thesis. I’m exhausted. I have to thank my love, who has seriously been my rock and cared for me and my son even when I’m a sicky, moody beastie >.< thank you, amor. Hopefully, I’ll be posting more often again and working to create more structured and metered poetry.

Under the Canopy

Blistering light –
love undaunted – inundated by
the burn marks on my heart.
I speak too much of the dark
days passing subtle
through your light
that I return bright even
when I am blinded by it.
What I mean is
you grow in me, like
forests kissed by sunlight
touched always with cool
shadow and warm
embraces.
The thought of losing
this engulfs the trees
in ash – gutters smoke
into punctured lungs
and leaves me barren
to a world lush
somehow without you.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

To My Bug

Undying light –
youth of a limited
eternity –
may you grow like oak
against hail storms spit out
into the air – or soft linen
in a cool stream.
Washed but free to wander
when the weather is clear.
I will uproot you,
asking forgiveness in
moments I regret
the process of aging –
fearing the memories
that will make you un-mine.
I cannot leave
until your happiness
is sewn into this quiet Earth –
the final ring inside my
brittle bark.

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2018  For my buggy