Grief box

Ants drip onto the counter
from the clipped peonies

magenta flashed center bed of ivory
petals collapse into days together

my children’s eyelashes meet
in sleep the humidity of the room

holds us dehumidifier drones
on technical lullaby

Please, God, I want to be the type
of mother who rocks her kids at night
without thinking about hanging herself
in the storage room with the electrical cord.

permutation:
present; no call to action but impossible to ignore

in my mind there is a lake I stand
in front of again and again

autumn leaves shadow
from auburn to charcoal

the sun’s fading light
streaks the surface still

dull orange bleeds to gray
blue at bedtime we read

Fox in Socks new goo
blue goo gooey gooey

and I can’t stop these
are the thoughts

They come every time I drive, too

permutation:
mellow; easy to ignore sort

The reflection of the brake lights ahead
of me ribbons on the wet asphalt

as the sun that splits the atmosphere into dusk
car tires meet asphalt slick grip the speck of rubble

left from the accident swept up an hour ago
I pass a deer hit legs bent back like paper clips

twisted into itself I don’t realize
it is still alive until its head moves

for a moment I catch its eye have you ever
looked a deer in the eye that is about to die?

In walking I find relief. Amen.

Cloud ends wisp thin
intestine of the deer carcass

I pass while pushing the kids
in the stroller. A vulture

pauses at us, then pulls.
Intestine from body

open, force of it unfurls,
a flag of pink surrender to wind

presence:
a given

intensity:
variable

pattern of intensity:
indiscernible. Brian, my therapist, agrees

to work with me only if I don’t know the code

to the gun safe. Usually a gun in the house

is a deal breaker for him but with my husband

being a police officer and all, he makes an exception

for me. I’ve asked S— to stop telling me

about the suicide calls

It’s the fur that makes me realize
I’ve dragged the stroller through

remains. When I look back, the path
is stained in a curly cue hue of faded

currant, bless me I have sinned
I will sin this body into unbeing

dead grass mottles the hillside
stiff and soft as deer fur

like the woman who blew her brain open with her gun, how her skull was fractured and scattered all over the floor, how when the officers were looking for the pieces, her cat’s paw popped out from underneath the couch and grabbed one, how her identical twin showed up later and threw them off because they didn't know she had a sister much less a twin.

I am waking to find things are only present in walking
we come upon it small, insignificant on the path

but I stop the stroller in front of it, adjust our direction
maneuver the wheels around the katydid

still alive on the sidewalk its stepped on insides
leaking from its thorax tell me have you ever

looked an insect in the eye
and felt its misery?

Brian suggests after several months of appointments

that I don’t grieve well. He recommends keeping

a box in his office called a grief box that I can place

my grief in. His clients bring in boxes personal to them,

sometimes decorated, whatever suits their needs.

I bring in an old cell phone box and don’t ever ask

to bring it down thereafter.

The thoughts come when S— and I fight

permutation:
intense; no other option sort

mainly because I have no sleep and I resent him and his job for it on the bad nights

The lake in my mind is cold
autumn on the brink of winter

the kind of day you can feel your breath
as it breaks in two in front of you.

Katydid, you know you are dying?
I imagine diving into the lake my body

a curve like the yellow c of our alphabet
puzzle scattered across the kitchen

floor we are forever missing the O
and Q, James’ favorites, he treasures them

because of their holes, carries them around
with him wearing them on his fingers as rings

They come every time I am sleep deprived, too

permutation:
fierce; can’t be alone sort

At 12am the monitor goes off and I go into James’ room.
This is the 6th week of minimal sleep. By 6am when S—

leaves for work, James and I are both crying together in the nursery’s rocking chair. At 6:50am James falls back to

sleep, and exhausted I fall horizontal across my bed.
The second monitor goes off and Claire is up for the day.

It is Christmas Eve. When I call my parents to ask what
time they would like us over, my mom asks how we are

I have been up since midnight. I am going on 1 hour of sleep. I am going to kill myself. What this isn’t: hyperbole

Lone dandelion bloom in the first breath
of January. New year, wrong season,

new bloom takes me by surprise. Its petals
open and waiting, a circumference

of renewal, sits fat and bold against
the slight chill of day’s fade.

Sleep is where Brian puts his foot down, tells me

I must take measures to find more. S— and I

come up with a plan. Shifts. So that he can still go

to work with enough rest and be safe working patrol,

but that will allow me some sleep if James wakes up

at midnight and stays up all night. We also change

James’ diet. And start giving him melatonin.

brush spots the forgotten road
patched in like fur on a sick dog

between asphalt cracks aster grows
and wavers in the wind, a shock

of purple drifting to earth’s pulse
a storm’s inhalation exhalation

Walk walk we like to walk walk talk
we like to talk hop pop we like to hop

we like to hop on top of pop James stops
whatever he is doing when he hears me

come to this page and places my hand
on my mouth next I yell stop you must

not hop on pop and he laughs and puts
my hand back on my mouth and yells

stop one of his few consistent words
and we repeat the page

again and again
and again

And sometimes I have to remind S— I can’t hear them because when the calls are so unusual he just starts to share without thinking. Like the time the man laid his head along the railroad track. Vertically. When the train came it sliced the man’s face straight off. The cleanness of the slice was uncanny, S— told me. How do you describe adequately what it’s like to see an intact face separated from its body?

How’s this week been? I’m pissed. I’m really angry

that I have to teach my kid how to fucking play.

I shouldn’t have to do that. We should just be able

to pretend without me having to teach him how or

him needing a chewy. So many parents have no idea

what they’re taking for granted. I would kill to race cars

with him or have a tea party with his stuffies. Why does

everything have to be so hard with James? You’re absolutely

right. It’s not fair that you have to teach James how to play.

You get to be angry about that.

I am startled by how fierce
a dead deer’s gaze can pierce.

Glossy eyes, worlds unknown
moons orbit. Rib cage

exposed, ivory amphitheater
picked clean. Vultures

are the groundskeepers
death seeks.

stop I yell as he screams in his high chair
why can’t you be normal why is everything

so difficult this is supposed to be fun you’re
going to wake up sissy and I won’t be happy

finger paint covers his tray his hands
a swirl of blue and red and green married

in two swipes on the page he grabs at me
to get him away from it something frustrates him

and he can’t tell me normally I intuit what
but the paint baffles me he enjoys it every time

until something about it sets him off but I am trying
to practice with him at home so he can paint

at preschool with his peers it is the surprise and hurt
in his eyes that tells me he may not understand

all I say but he knows my tone’s meaning

I think the path to suicide is so well worn for you.

It’s your mind’s first reaction to disruptions in life,

even if they’re not that big in the scheme of things.

The path has been walked so many times, your

brain goes there almost automatically. The work we’re

doing is to get your brain on another path. You’re the one

who gets to call the shots. What would it feel like to take

the option of suicide off the table?

the first time I slice
a blueberry I am startled

by its inside I slice
because I worry

about the kids choking
the insides aren’t pure blue

like I assumed rather they are
yellow with blue green seeds

little specks like a spotted leopard
or the swirl of stars in the milky way

blue specks in a yellow sea
it is the juice that stains purple

If you could visualize it when you’re in the descent

what does it look like? what does it feel like? where

are you? I’m standing in front of a lake

It’s 5pm and we’re winding the day down towards
dinner. James sits next to me as we wait for Claire

to wake from her nap. Together we work
on his Paw Patrol stickers. I place my hand

over his hand, form his finger into a pointer
and help him point to which sticker he wants

next. In this moment, we’re clicking
and go through a whole page of stickers

practicing the pointing, him not knowing
this isn’t just a game. When the pointing

gets to be too much, I form my own hand
into a pointer and let him guide it

What if I just do it? I know you say I am not impulsive,

but sometimes I just make up my mind to do something

and then do it. Like once I walked into a Korean salon

and asked for a pixie cut. The woman didn’t speak English

and I had to show her a picture of what I wanted but I just

decided that day I was going to do it and stopped at the first

salon I passed. What are you saying? I’m saying what will

stop me? You mean what will stop you from killing yourself?

Yes, what if I decide this is it. Today’s the day. Well, you know

what the steps are that I am legally required to take if you are

telling me you are going to kill yourself. It would involve

hospitalization. Yeah, I don’t want that. No, you don’t.

Dear Lord Jesus, please.
I am tired tired tired

I want to be better please
heal me Amen.

I am doing the best
I can. I am. Am I?

Where is your relief,
God? How many times

will my prayers go unanswered?

Willow oak leaves cluster the grass at last
pieces of a beetle shell cracked and scattered

rain pounds them cold into the ground
this fall has been unusually warm

and the leaves hang on longer than usual
we are still raking them in December

I feel like a bad mom some days. I let the kids watch way

too much TV but I’m so tired. I don’t know what else to do.

Well, you’re allowed to be a mediocre mom some days. A

mediocre mom is better than a dead mom.

The deer I don’t mind hearing about. S— tells me about the ones that get caught in fences that
break their legs or the ones that get clipped by cars and are too hurt to walk but are still alive
enough to thrash and kick. He has a rope in his cruiser he uses to drag them out of the roadway
for a good backdrop to euthanize them. It’s part of patrol duties. Apparently, deer scream. A
euthanized deer always makes the day’s run-down.

They come when I am surrounded by friends and family laughing

permutation:
dull but painful, like a toothache

Is that an origami dog on your shelf? Yes! You

are the first person to notice. I do origami in between

appointments sometimes. I try to create animals mentioned

by clients and if someone notices, they get to take their

animal home. Do I have an animal up yet? No, but I’m

taking orders. What would you like? I grew up with a

German Shepherd. I’ve never made one of those, but

I’ll try my hand at it.

James grabs a banana
from the counter

hands it to me, its body
dense, heavy in my palm.

My thumb presses to peel
soft form surrounds

fruit’s edge to thumb’s edge
banana body segments

a holy trinity, the pieces
fall from each other.

my peonies are the prize flowers in my garden
I waited 3 years for blooms after planting them

now every spring I clip their stems when their bodies
are rained down weighed down ready to break

they come into the kitchen and fill our home with the most
wonderful perfume James loves them and will carry a bloom

around the house with him and then place it back in the vase
tattered and bruised and falling apart the bushes I planted

were supposed to be pink but I don’t mind the white blooms
that come instead their inner magenta a partial shock of color

Katie Richards’ poetry has previously appeared or is forthcoming in the South Dakota Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, SOFTBLOW, and The Inflectionist Review among other places.