the loss

I realized last night something I have lost. It went away with my old computer. It was a 30 plus page file. My poems, my thoughts, and my ideas. Anything of myself that I can not share. When she died I wrote for days. About what she looked like, about her habit of moving her glasses up right before she started listing to me. I wrote about m uncle to. I re-counted everything I could remember about the night he died. It was healing to know that was out there. If only on my computer. So I morn the loss of a lot of my emotion. I feel almost empty with out it.

New Friend

I would like to introduce you all to a new friend of mine. His name is Alby. After Albus Dumbledore. He is my new Mac Computer. Mr. Bilbo passed away 2 nights ago. His hardrive died in the middle of the night with a dramatic sound. I was really sad for the loss of a very good friend but am happy to have moved on to a few life with my mac. I did loose lots of stuff though when Bilbo went down. :(

Home

I miss my god son. I also am very tired of the aloneness I have here. Its every day. I feel like nobody around me cares what I do. So its time to go home. I will visit my babies. (that includes my Heidi dog.) I cant help but get the feeling that going home means seeing her again. I know its stupid but for almost 3 years I went home so often to visit with her. Now I am going home again but I know she wont be there. I miss her. I wish I could walk in and hear her voice yell "WHO IS IT??" I hope I don't spend the whole weekend depressed.

American Granddaughter

My grandmother raised me American
Her ginny blood ran thick through her veins
Never an American
Her youth spend in the fields of the rich Italian countryside
Her faith, her family, her husband were
everything
My youth was spent in the American cityscape of violence and hatred
But She took me to a building of brick and stained glass
She pointed to a cross and a mans skinny flesh
Nothing but Muscles, bone, and skin
She talked of trusting this man and his father because
He died for us she explained
Then each night she touched her beads
Passing them though her shaking hands
Muttering words in her native language
Praying to the man in the stained glass building
Her life was lived having faith But
She raised me American and
In America you question
The land she came to by boat, the land of the free but
In America you mistrust
So I learned to question
Suspicions of all I am told
Why would a man die for human kind?
The same people who still murder today
The same people who hate so deeply
My Nonna believed
But she raised an American
And Americans doubt

Walls

I keep walls up for a reason. You let people see to much and they might decide they don't like you anymore. But its more then that for me. I don't like to talk about some things because I makes me remember, and think. Some thing I would just rather forget. I have come to realize not everyone can understand this. Some people live there lives so openly and it can be really beautiful. I am sure though there are downsides to that style of life as well. For me though, I keep my walls. If I let you peek though sometimes its because I really trust you. It can still hurt though. It really can.

PS. PLEASE PLEASE if you can, go out and vote. For whoever you want! Just vote.

Italian Hymn

(Written as in imitation poem for my poetry class, I got a A+ for some reason, she wanted me to share why my family but instead I will share with you all)

Sitting on a warn old sofa
Her soft arms gesture and sway
I heard a Neapolitan sing
Her mind becomes forgetful so easily hardly to remember names
The voice is as sweet as her young days in the fields of Italy
She crochet a blanket…
She crochet a blanket…
It was to the tune of church hymns
Dry hands against the cotton of the yarn
She could make her family stop and listen
Hymns
Coming from an Italian woman’s heart
Prayers
In her high pitch voice would shake along with her hands
Aged by life’s trials her mind and hands are not there best
“O sole mio
sta 'nfronte a te!
O sole, o sole mio
sta 'nfronte a te!”
Her hands fold yarn quickly but her heart has begun to slow
The night comes fast and her work is done
Her tired eyes read prayers before sleep
And her thoughts of her past lead her home once more

Dave

A guy named Dave helped extract a bird from my wall today. He was really really nice. I am not much for signs but darn this one comes close to feeling like one. He asked my name and smiled at me so nicely, like he knew me. He was about Grandpa Dave's age too. Maybe 64. Had a mustache that was aged with gray hairs. A denim shirt to boot. Grandpa I know you were working in your shop when Dave came to the door but still It feels like that could have been you. Thanks.

PS yes I said a bird in my wall... and NO i don't know how it got there.

Exit 2: February

So here I sit on yet another 1st of the month. Its amazing how time goes by. Its been about 4 months since the last time I saw her face smile back at me. Yet still depression seems to grab at my heart and squeeze every ounce of joy I once felt. So now I am looking at February. What is this month going to do for me? I don't know and frankly I am not even sure I know the point in wondering anymore. Whatever happens will happen no matter what I do.

If I could have one wish for February it would be to find love. I don't mean a guy. I just mean find and accept love again and again every day of this month. In my friends, in my family, everyplace I can. I guess the rest will be alright if I can just do that.