Connie Post Poetry Collection

’ Til Divorce Do Us Part…


As we all know, divorce is a painful event. But we can heal from it. Millions of people go through it every year. This is a book of poetry that reflects on the different aspects of the end of matrimony.


In the Quiet  ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~

They had an argument on night.
She did not speak to him the next day,
Or the next.
Soon, he began to ask questions
Hoping that she would answer,
And that her words would massage
The aching space between them.
Often, when asked what was wrong,
She did not answer.
When she did,
She gave excuses,
About being tired, or distracted
Or too busy.
In bed one night,
She rolled over, and again
Faced away from him.
Her light, silken nightgrown
Fell between her shoulder blades,
Resting there for as long as she stayed
In that position.
He stared at her contoured, muscular back
For a long time.
He was through asking her questions
But still wondered what went wrong
Between them.
He knew the truth rested there somewhere,
Between her breathing and her silence.


The Empty Ring Finger ~  Copyright by Connie Post ~

Unencircled by gold
Untouched by fourteen karate commitment
Unleashed from his hand in yours
Unattached from any other fingers
That many have ever laced themselves
In yours
From any new ring
That might try to settle itself there
Try to pretend it cared or would stay
Unwanted by
Hands that do not know her
Unveiled from its band of ever after


A Brief Summer Wind ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~

She and the sky wore a
Dress of blue.
She danced with blades of grass,
While the cherry sun
Let them drink wind
Through the straw field.
She and summer wind
Made dandelion love.
She rose to meet attentive breezes
That warmed her
Unlike the marriage
She had left
Just the week before.


Black Birds ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~

Sometimes when I am driving,
There are blackbirds fluttering and landing
In the middle of the roadway.
I drive towards them,
At my regular speed.
But at times,
It feels like I might run into them.
I even imagine the scene
And it repeats itself several times in those few, quick seconds
That my foot hesitates at the accelerator.
But as always,
The birds take flight at just that last second,
Before destruction actually descends upon them.
I always wonder,
How do they know…
What exact moment to leave,
To take flight,
Abandoning the earthbound road beneath them.
How were they given this special knowledge
Of leaving,
And why can’t they give it to me.
I want to learn to fly away
From the wheels, that embrace me
And won’t let me leave…


Her Garden ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~


She steps carefully
Upon a gentle soil
It has been waiting for her.
She does not weed out
What she does not have to.
She does not uproot
What does not need to be taken.
The silent noon sun hovers in May
As the hours pass like an unheard cadence.
She snaps off withered buds
She can hear them calling out
Like the silent broken vows she can hardly remember.
Over time,
She begins to knead the dirt like a baker works raw dough.
The water leaks evenly from her chosen garden hose,
It turns to a rich, brown gravy that she
Only she can pour
The bulbs call to her,
She buries them as deep as she feels in necessary.
The seeds of her mourning
Pull her to sunset.
She can go inside the house now
She can finally go inside.


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