Shades of Grey

She says they’re usually seen as black holes,
easily identified and normal.
Neither black nor distinct these shades of grey
clustered on the remains of womanhood
left to balance life: today – tomorrow.

Eight weeks of waiting will provide the time
necessary to separate the truth
from the worry, to reassure the mind
the body will be okay – black and white
images cleared of distortion, stable.

This body, empty of pieces taken
for the sake of health, looks to the future:
once colored in vibrant shades suddenly
feels better dressed in simple black and white.



February’s Grey
When the November sky is October
blue and the breeze is a warm September,
I can taste that time we kissed. Chicago
in the rain and Paris with its heat wave,
hold memories no one else shares with me.
The warmth of your palms following the curve
of my waist and hips, caressing my cheek;
finger tips trailing rain drops down between
my breasts – your touch still ignites desire,
even across this span of years gone by.
February’s grey colors in my moods,
doesn’t heed the lines or form, scribbling,
erasing, on a whim, pieces of life
the way it was, leaving me with today.

Me – as I am


I strip

in front of the mirror,

watch as each layer

falls –

the noise of who I was

collapses around my feet,

creates a pool of memory,

in which I stand – clear headed.


Scattered sounds echo

echo in the emptiness of space

created as I disappear.


What was once me

fades to a shadow


behind possibilities –

me as I am

on my own



                        alone   – no longer lonely.


Turning to view

every angle

I lean in, examine

old tear tracks

lines made when laughter was frequent

grey hair from worry, the wear and tear

life before

I remembered

to be me – again.


Exposed to the air,

I breathe freely.

Naked, unwrapped

from the past

I embrace the future;


The noise soaks in

holds me up with memories


without taking over

me as I am.


© Siobhan