The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide

Still Jump When Phones Ring

Lost in Loss

The phone rang,
Then the shaking voice,
They say what has occurred,
Then everything's hazy and blurred
Then there's strangers 
Talking to me,
I can't hear
Things are spinning in slow motion
I'm not sure I'm really here
I have to keep pacing
To stop would mean facing
Faces concerned, voices muffled 
I must keep pacing
This isn't real
The crises team watches
They whisper
Come to me slowly, as if approaching a bomb
They speak, I don't hear there words
I speak, but it's not me
My words are loud
In the car now
Little pills
Hospital bed
Phone call
My husband is dead
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace