For Tierney.

I’ve been a poet longer than I’ve been a writer. Like little Tierney playing the piano, little Em was drawing pictures and writing accompanying poetry.

Tierney loved my poEms. You know those friends who encourage your art and the hopes and dreams within? One of those people was Tierney. I wrote a few poems for her over the years, to cheer her up or because her spirit inspired me.

And so it’s not morbid or gloomy, now that you know the backstory, to write Tierney out of this mortal coil.

I believe these two particular sparks

will meet and cause a fire someday,

Crackling warmth, laughter dancing up the walls

of this little red schoolhouse of the heart.

 

For Tierney with love. x0x0

This is not a time to die

But to soar. Just another turn of the

Spiral, not the end nor the

Beginning, but the middle ground

With all its slippery slopes.

One bird, like one thousand birds.

Every breath a raindrop

Dancing off a tin roof.

Love, the definition of never-ending

And a fire burning within

And a place to begin.

It can take one hundred years

To peck off this shell, this

Growing while we’re dying, this

Heart beating for real.

It’s a leap and then a crash.

A sore and then a soar.

A Grand-Canyon-sized ache.

A wing breaking into song.

 

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