little drains

little things that happened

never resolved, not quite forgiven

nagging bits that seem to be gone

until something else stirs the memory

and the irritation roils as though

a current event – the breath sharpens

the jaw clenches, the self-talk speaks

within my being, ragging what i

should have said to justify

my vindictive anger

and my hurt still draining my joy

and my relationship

i’m okay

hurting enough to hide

unwilling to admit uncertainty

finding chores around home

to pretend i am accomplishing

anything

you don’t say

 speaking of saying aloud

what we feel inside

brings tears to the grieving

the angry, the hopeless

and betrayed—agitation

that tears within us until

given opportunity to erupt

or—grant heaven!—to speak

daughter, mother

over  lunch at filbert’s farm kitchen

laughter and pleas for ancestor stories

catching up on the kids’ activities

comparing perspectives on family

gatherings and the tales emerging

from them, more laughter

and moments of tender grief

daughter, mother share the joy

and pain of loving deeply

blessed beyond words

blessed beyond words

i draw my arms around me

as my husband can no longer

and thank the beauty and joy

that fills me to overflowing

ready to begin again to try

to capture in written rhythm

and feeling moments of life

with its coercions

and limitless promise

retreat from anger

retreat from anger

wait to the count of one hundred

and ten

and then

wait until tomorrow before answering

at times, sleep unravels cause

so the anger can be channeled

at times, the feeling is appropriate

but the response must be moderated

and truth expressed quietly, but firmly

and that cannot be accomplished

if the anger still rules

achy angry

achy long enough begets angry

angry yields snappish

pondering after requires apology

ah, to not have had the achy

in the first place

generations hug

little red-headed boy fighting tears

hobbling grandmother comforts

“Do you know what I like most?”

“Uh-uh,” he sniffles

“Freckles. Isn’t that what they

were teasing you about?”

slow smile in response

“Do you know what I like most?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Wrinkles.”

it still kicks me in the gut

it still kicks me in the gut

24/7 caregiver, cook, linens maid

consoler, i answered their call

they wanted to bring a treat

for dad’s lunch but never thought

to bring even an extra cookie

for dad’s wife of twenty years

mumble mutter

ranting and swearing are not my thing

although i can mumble with the best of them

under my breath

perhaps it is healthier than turning myself inside-out

with sadness over something i cannot control or even change

drat it all!

hate, too

     haiku

pain and fear encage

blinding panoramic views

of the joy of life

                        mjNordgren  5/29/2022  N

blame un-game

wrestling with pique over restrictions

and weariness of exile

mumbling, fretting, whining among ourselves

deciding we are put upon and liking victimhood

we attack

but who - in a pandemic - deserves to be blamed?