The Table top Poem

The Table top poem by Emily Sturgill

2/26/2011

A woman filled with the mourning of

the loss of her husband

put his hunting jacket on the table.

She also placed his fishing gear, hooks and tackle on the table.

She put her memories of him into their children and grandchildren.

The stories he would tell She put the words into her dry mouth telling

them to all who would listen especially on the holidays.

After 40 years of marriage a stranger murdered her husband.

She had never met this stranger before but he was introduced to the couple

three years before her husband’s death as Stomach Cancer.

Unfortunately due to her grief the woman has to be reminded of the happy times She had with her husband by her children and friends. The couple with one half missing now have a great grandchild.

She changes into her nightgown putting her heart on her sleeve and goes to bed into a dreamless sleep.

Written for Gary and Deborah Sturgill in 2011. Gary passed in April 2006.

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missing pieces

missing pieces 10-24-15

you’ve passed away two days now

and there are pieces of you everywhere.

its the missing pieces, that i miss.

the sound of your sharp howl bark

the snap of your jaws and teeth-(as you would try to “speak”)

the click-clackey clack of your paws and nails

on our wood floors.

there’s even bits and pieces of your thick

wool like fur on the staircases.

there’s the empty spot where you would lay

under the dining room table.

these missing pieces of the old dog I loved.

the house feels lonely and much quieter now.

letting you go was very hard.

now your somewhere better and hopefully

at peace. No longer in pain just another dog angel

in a sky filled of stardust. But I’m left with memories

and missing pieces of my friend.

Wool

Wool-

Weds 10-21-15

Wool-

your fur feels like wool

my loyal shiba inu

but as i pet you it comes off in patches.

my breath catches,

deep in my throat -deep down in the place

where tear rivers flow.

and I don’t know

how to say goodbye?

Lord only knows

how hard we tried

to save you from illness and grief.

now as a last resort

is putting you to sleep.

But that’s for tomorrow.

today is for saying goodbye

and your fur feels like wool.

your sleeping most of the time now.

at 13 or 14 years old your no longer

our spunky friend.

you’ve slowed down but we both love you so much.

Tomorrow morning will come soon enough.

I wish there was a way to properly

say goodbye and i love you

my loyal shiba inu.

Rest in peace Moshi Moshi Feb 2001-10/22/15

The Weeping Widow

The weeping widow-12/31/14

Emily Sturgill

The Weeping Widow

She always is in a state of

emotional disarray, turmoil, nothing

can change or stop this

it never goes away.

The Weeping Widow

She is often at her wits end,

constantly in mourning

grieving each and every lost

relative or friend.

The Weeping Widow

relives each death like a cassette

tape on the rewind.

It is the only thing she focuses

on, her mourning, their deaths, her pain.

I watch her go through these moments

almost daily.

It’s obvious to me, she clearly needs

therapy, yet she refuses to go.

I am so unsure why Death

has such a huge hold on her,

but it does and she will not let it go.

It seems like everyday on our calendar is

a reminder-to her-of the death of someone

She once loved and lost,

she turns to me

confides in me

constantly

but I am unable to bear this burden

her cross

her loss.

I cannot replace who is missing-

all  I can do is offer to listen.

And then there comes this sharp ended

point where I cannot hear it anymore.

 

The Weeping Widow

relives each death like a cassette

tape on the rewind.

It is the only thing she focuses

on, her mourning, their deaths, her pain.

I watch her go through these moments

almost daily.

 

 

the Monster of me

the Monster of me-

12/27/14

by Emily Sturgill

the Monster of me-

you cannot see

from the outside, but,

on the inside

there is a Monster of me.

deep inside a divided mind-

there is a Monster of me

It’s ugly, and messy,

It’s broken, jagged, sharpen edges

with rotted teeth

with the violet violence of despair.

Deep down inside me,

lies horrible truths, like Anger, Depression, Sadness and Fear.

it eats away at me from the inside out.

leaving nothing but

this empty shell

of a young looking pretty

40 something, crazy cat-lady,

bag lady, bag lady, i’ve been there before.

the Monster of me

is what you cannot see.

I appear normal enough

but i am raw to the touch.

and the tears just flow

like a faucet with way too much

draino.

I can appear to be

almost anything. Confident, witty or artsy-

or quiet and shy,

but deep down inside

an unraveling mind,

lies the Truth

I am mentally ill.

I am dangerous

I am to be feared

and never understood.

I am just another anonymous Statistic

I am just another runaway lunatic

I am just another victim

of my own unhinged mind.

I live with bipolar disorder

and that feels like a Crime.

the Monster of me

i keep her chained to the bed

on a dirty mattress

She’s the darkest deepest secret

the Horror in my head.

Not enough

Not enough-

Dec 26th, 2014

Friday Afternoon 2:49 EST

Not enough

Never enough

Not enough

sleep.

Not enough,

to eat.

Not enough,

to touch the sky & kidnap the Sun.

Not enough, to learn how to fly,

just enough to become

untied

undone.

Not enough to reach outwards and find it.

Not enough to reach out, and grab the happy

right off someone else’s face,

because my happy

its become erased

misplaced

lost confusion.

It’s just not enough,

to fix up this place.

It’s not enough to straighten

this room, to clean between the cracks, to sweep

a broom across this dusty room

deep inside my minds eye.

Not enough,

to touch the sky & kidnap the Sun.

Not enough, to learn how to fly,

just enough to become

untied

undone.

It’s not enough to

try to run, to sprint, to finish

the race.

I’m fresh out of lungs

the air is too sharp, cold and dry-

It’s not enough,

to just sit here

waiting for you

to get home.

It’s not enough, to be a failure as a housewife,

to be a successful lunatic

with a Masters Degree

and no job prospects.

It’s not enough

to be a crazy person,

living on SSDI, it’s not enough, to always

live in someone else’s shadow

it’s not enough

to be the ghost

you can come home

and answer too.

Don’t you understand?

My wings may have melted, because I flew

too closely to the Sun

but I have dreams too.

I do not long to be

someone else’s

no one.

a sinking feeling

a sinking feeling by Emily Sturgill 6/24/14

a sinking feeling
as the ship goes down,
and your leaving for work
as you kiss me goodbye

all I see on your face
is anger and hurt.

a sinking feeling
as the ship goes down,
your disappointed in me
once more again

somehow, some way I
have let you down again.
and there is no time
for words or apologies.

a sinking feeling,
as the ship goes down,
I can see with one look
your angry with me

a sinking feeling
as the ship goes down,
I do not even have or own
the magical words

of saying I’m sorry,
because you do not share
whatever wrong I’ve done.
this day is off to a rocky start.

a sinking feeling
as the ship goes down,
with one angry look
you cracked my heart.

split it halfways
like two sides
of a cracked raw
egg yolk.

a sinking feeling,
as the ship goes down,
as I sit here in a precursor to all my tears,
I know you’d throw me overboard in a second

hoping that this time
I would splash, sink, sputter
and finally
drown.

as the ship goes down.

The journey towards forgiveness

I do not usually post blog-style confesionals. I’m much more of a poet, than anything else. In fact in addition to my poetry online, I have been keeping multiple journals at home and handwritten. One is more private confessional journal type enteries and the other is mostly poems, ideas, and sometimes tarot readings I give myself or lists of things to do or lists of music playlists.

HERE…is mostly just where I share poems, unless I am all fired up. Today, I am all fired up and I think its vital to share because it might help others to move forward.

I am all fired up about the notion of forgiveness. In theory, I do believe it is better to forgive even if not forget or forgive ANd forget-whatever works best for you. But in practice I find this to be a slippery slope. i struggle very much on how to forgive, when to forgive and how to let go. Honestly, I hold horrible grudges. And they are horrible in truth because mostly they only serve to hurt me-myself-nobody else.

All that angry righteous high horse b.s. I desperately hold onto-a sense of who iswrong and who is right? Honestly, it does not serve me much any longer-in fact it wears me down, makes me feel guilty and mad, like an angry hornet shook lose from its nest.

so today, I was with my hubby and we were at the bookstore out of nowhere i spotted like the ideal book and he bought it for me with a couple other items. This book is called, “The forgiveness formula: how to let go of your pain and move on with Life.” It was on sale at barnes and nobles-only$6.98-hardcover-by author Kathleen Griffin. @2004.

I am only on pg 16 so far but this book is exactly what i needed to hear at this time. i am in fact blown away.I am just writing about this because forgiveness can be ajourney-a pathwy-towards feeling lighter-less burdened. And in my heart, i realize it is not an easy thing to forgive. That more folks than just myself struggle with it. Holding onto the past so tightly it only distorts your vision of the present moment and it poisons the well of your future happiness. This seems true to me.

Someday I really hope I can learn to forgive, hopefully sooner than later because all this angry i hold deep down inside-it only strangles me-making it harder to breathe making it harder to reign into my sanity. I realize i am not the only sufferer out there but by refusing to allow forgiveness its like picking a scab, bruised and bleeding-the wound will not heal. I know I will not heal either. By the way, I highly reccommend her book-so far its very good.

Check out my other blog too!

I also have a much smaller and highly neglected blog at blogspot: here is a link: http://dirtyfilthybutterflyblues.blogspot.com/2014/02/memories.html

Please Feel free to check it out. There are only about 84 posts on that one. For a while I tried doing both at once, but I get forgetful and I love wordpress so very much it is hard to remind myself to write on the other blog too!

But the poems there are different then the poems here-for the most part at least!

Today

Today my words don’t come out.

Today silence is all I am about.

My thoughts may scream or

sometimes even shout…

but just for Today that’s not what I am about.

Cold and chilled to the bone.

Icy stone reflections upon

a broken ridged frozen ground-

and when the snow comes softly-

when the snow comes softly

when the snow comes slowly

it never makes a sound.

Collecting itself into white velvet icy tapestry,

beneath its dusty fragile-ness that is a strength that lasts.

It tears us through months of Winter

and winds that howl

winds that blast.

But no more words do I have here-

there is nothing left to say

except tread lightly and admire the silence

of fallen snow

which stole my words Today.