Sacrifice and Sadness and Loss

//sacrifice

I will sacrifice
everything for your love
except chocolate.

//sadness and loss

At first,
I wanted to die every day,
from the pain
spewed
onto my life
but instead,
pulled on sweats,
walked
our hilly road
past houses where
the smell of bacon and waffles,
the sound of early-summer-morning
children’s laughter
drifted, mixed with sun-warmed, pine-scented air,
a gift of communion
with how it used to be,
refreshing my spirit
now endlessly
clutched by a nightmare,
an octopus
of unforeseen despair.

Later in the year,
on early-dark nights,
I mind-talked
with Mary,
especially on Christmas Eve,
demanding reprieve.

By the New Year, I’d learned my new role,
understood I could never recoup,
that I might not be here, maybe next year.
For a minute now and then,
when I saw an old friend
or got caught up in gossip,
I was my old unconscious self again,
the one who hadn’t met despair,
and seen that it doesn’t care
or play fair.

Some cross streets to avoid,
with averted eyes,
my pain
but others
unexpectedly
hug,
and share --
the ones who are living nightmares too.
We learn to get out of bed every day,
to put our broken hearts away,
and go to the grocery store,
if we need eggs.