Of How I Bit Back

“Death doesn’t frighten me. It’s what comes after. [Besides, some of my best friends are dead, and they hunger for stories].” ~ Terry Pratchett [and me]


My world remains full
of what you left me—bones
on my altar, books and stones,
the calaveras that grinned on my handfasting
cake (you weren’t here for that)

I miss you…

There are new things
on my altar and living—hearts
from friends, a bird skull
whose flesh and feathers fly
to you (its grin and bone
stay with me)

I miss you…

Newest, on my altar, wild offerings
for you—peanuts and (not so shiny) metal gifts
from a blue jay, leaves and petals and lavender
and rosemary from a witch made of gentle fire,
a shot of spirits (I will never forget)

I miss you…

The world remains full of what you left me, but
there are new things on my altar and living—
life bit, bit, bit… chunks out of my chest, but
I’m fighting, fighting, fighting back…

next year, when The Veil thins
again, when Soul and Flesh get to glimpse
into each other’s mirrors, I’ll share new
stories, Little Brother, of how I bit back,
of how I won, of how I’ll always remember

I miss you…


the wee notes…
– last night, I spent a considerable amount of time cleaning the altar where I keep my Little Brother’s ashes, listening to his favorite music, speaking the tales of everything of importance (or trivial but humorous) that has happened to me this year. It’s how I’ve celebrated the life of my Dead for as long as I can remember, how I will add to their memory for a long as I breathe.


When the Veil Is Autumn-Thinned

“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…” ~ Terry Pratchett. If you read me often, you might be tired of this quote. What can I say? I love it, believe it. So, you’ll probably see it again.

New York City’s soil is October cool under my feet. But the soul of your laughter and memories (of you and me dancing Caribbean wilds into the world) keeps the chill out of my toes. One oak drops crimsoned leaves next to sculptures music and I art-stepped into the dirt. “Graveyards are dead and dark,” you said to me once, “as hollow as forgotten bones and ashes are cold.” Perhaps, you didn’t say it like that, but your heart (as afraid of the dark as the rest of you was) might’ve had. I heard you, blood of mine. I hear you.

I don’t dance alone
when the Veil is autumn-thinned.
You sing in my bones,
where I keep you warm and bright,
alive through laughter and dance.

the wee notes…
– This is my last entry for October’s Heart-Bits with Magaly, 2017: Love Is Love Is Love… and Words. My 1st contribution was all about word-lust. This one is about my love for dance and memories of loved ones, and how the two can keep each other alive.
– Did you enter my Stitched October’s Heart-Bits Giveaway? If not, then you should.
– I’m also linking to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

see the complete handwritten piece on Facebook

“Love Is Love Is Love… and Words”, by Shelle Kennedy