Grief

I packed my faith along

With my old clothes

I gave to Curty

For his non profit in Jamaica

My faith is loosening its grip

On my soul, the fleeting

Visions of Jim, of Jesus

Appearing to me, that dark face

Invading my psyche

With hands that hold me tight

Saint Monica of Hippo

And her son Saint Augustine

She prayed for him

Until he abandoned the sins 

Of the flesh, like John

My body caged

With handcuffs, stolen from

The Toronto Police

John had the key

But he'd taunt me

He'd smile as he waved the key

In front of my face

Then he'd grab my scissors

My sharp sewing scissors

And cut pieces of my soul away

Some days I wish I'd died then and there

You act like you don't want to be here anymore

I'm half alive, half breathing

Grief floods and loss flourishes

Helplessness, the loss of my old self

My old brain is not here anymore

And I smell fresh baked bread