Samstag, 17. Februar 2024

Tennessee starts at the Piggly Wiggly


Four years

After they buried him

So did we

Three hours south

From us

One hour 

Into Alabama. 

Beloved son

Says the granite stone

Children shouldn’t die before their parents 

Says my husband. 

We are lost

In grief and lost chances 

Words not uttered

Days not lived. 

When we leave the stone in the grass

And the son underneath 

Headed north, we are musing

About the state we are in

Until we see:

Tennessee starts at the Piggly Wiggly

© beatrix brockman

Montag, 5. Februar 2024

Song for my Daughters

 (sung off-key)

rarely -- if ever --
are you far from my thoughts
and still I can't bridge 
the expanse
can't rock you for comfort
or kiss your wounds
although you are only
a few streets away
we are of one house
with minimal cracks
your father 

our foundation 

rarely -- if ever --
are you far from my thoughts 
my tentacle wisps
finding you no matter where   

© beatrix brockman

Pink Betrayal

grief wears 
black. black is
grief. pink 
hides grief
black shows
grief in my culture;
pink internalizes
pink conceals
grief, alleviates
the discomfort
of others
trauer trägt 
schwarz. schwarz 
ist trauer. pink 
trauer. schwarz 
trägt trauer
nach außen. 
pink verinnerlicht.
pink verheimlicht
trauer, erleichtert
die anderen.  

 ©beatrix brockman


Samstag, 3. Februar 2024


keep your stories
your tales of hope
the child grew
angel wings
never held or
rocked. Did she
smile in the womb
before eternal sleep?

Sonntag, 26. November 2023


as golden 
ginkos snow
embodied sun

i see
the orphaned crib
embody grief 

golden schneit
der gingko

im fluss 
von tränen schaukelt
die verwaiste wiege

©Beatrix Brockman

Freitag, 24. November 2023


 images hurt
as do stories, 
perpetually untold.
the annuli 
in my iris deepen
as worlds narrow
between their rings.
the next stanza
is stillborn.

©Beatrix Brockman


as night falls
and words fail me
tear drops 
don't cleanse
the heavy heart

candles don't 
lighten the load
as a name
circles my soul
grief's shadow holds

©Beatrix Brockman