Ghosty Me In the ghost that was me there were more than a me. There were parts that are missing and parts that were found. Down silent hallways in silent rooms surrounded by stormy voices. Locked in closets, inside locked trunks tied down to floor ties and splintered wood, in splintered minds and splintered souls, …

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Dried Skin Becoming dust is how some die. The collecting of white dust on the dashboard, sofa and nightstand flakes, dried skin, from the old man as he slowly peels away. © SB Joy, 2022 This is from the: Old Man series. Many years ago I looked after an aging alcoholic step parent. I had …

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American Chestnut The American chestnut is long gone, that doesn’t stop me from hoping in its thunderous limbs. I’m compassion; I’m not compassion. It’s all clinging to thinkings, like: how I think someone how I think I should be. This is the me that pisses; this is the me that reads Buddhist psychology; this is …

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She Awoke in Twenty-one Parts She awoke naked. She awoke breathless. She awoke with Winston licking her face then barking. She awoke wet. She awoke sweating. She awoke simmering in her own hot bath. She awoke alone. She awoke hung over. She awoke with a stranger’s tongue, dry and fuzzy. She awoke fighting. She awoke …

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Skinned A family can survive major pruning. The loss of parent, grandparent, child. However, a family tree can’t survive without its bark. The stripping away of my childhood’s outer layer. The intentional toughing up routines backfired, thinning the skin until raw and every word or touch burned like a bare light socket sunk into my …

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Silence Fifty years plus, silenced & caged. To write is to free the golden finch, imprisoned at eight, by a man’s filthy hands, reaching where claws don’t belong. The golden finch’s songs ruptures the cage & silence’s song. © SB Joy, 2021 What song has trauma silenced in you? SBJ