Slow Down On My Road

Traumatic Brain Injury 

5:00 AM Adelia drives Ortega Highway

 to work her shift in Mission Hospital Emergency.

Adelia Dias descendant of an explorer prays,

"Hail Mary no Road Kill today."

 Deer cross, doves rise and motorcycles roar.

No in passing solid double lines.

Island in the waves of the road.

Ignored, scoffed, hurried steal

family, future and fragile life. 

White foam board note in rear window:

" You Ricky Racer-

I've seen 3 no 4 dead on Ortega Highway.

Pass, cut off, wreck - less - tardy -

Fireworks spread your body parts on the Pacific.

Millions of your cells eaten by plankton.

Passing is your ticket to the deep. "

The number three crossed out in red pen, 

left in her pocket from the Triage of last night.

Copyright June 23 2016 Caroline Gerardo photograph of fireworks and story poem all rights reserved

October 6th 2016 another poor soul=== I pray drivers will slow down, be extra cautious turning in front of motorcycles and where it says do not pass, follow road signs. Hundreds of times I see reckless and angry drivers on Ortega 

http://www.ocregister.com/articles/crash-731353-highway-traffic.html

Honey is Gone

Moved, down sized, changed compass.

Wild.

National Forest, mountains, ranches are home.

Goodbye nightly aroma of beach fires- 

pallets burning... 

Flecks touch the surf.

Visit ocean.

It's ours.

Last night a friend left.

Loss of a family member, though

you saw her as a pet.

Goodbye tides.

Farewell cosmos.

Fifteen years of love.

Nanny to my children.

Checked safety, fixed covers,

never hated or distrusted;

but she stole underpants.

We laughed with her.

Snort at Honey jokes.

Her spirit soars.  

Swim the sea.

She's not gone.

Miss dust bunny fluffer-

nutter hair in corners.

Sounds of her toenails on

the kitchen floor, no more. 

Vacuum nose sniffing

specs of dinner gone astray,

now silent.

Golden Retrievers are from Heaven

Honey is up there, running.

When you see Honey she is kind.

A dog with truest form of love.

I wish 

I gave more treats,

paw rubs, kisses and

told her more often: 

"You are the best. 

You are beautiful.

You are my sweet."

more and more...

Sun sets,

slips behind landscape.

A gold color of Honey. 

Her tail flows in the clouds.

You are ocean.

Not a dog.

You are sea.

Swim in the kelp like when

you were young. 

Ride waves with surfers and Carson.

Dive for balls.

We love you too.

See you in Heaven mermaid pup.

Caroline Gerardo copyright May 26, 2016

Empty Nest

Grief in the plan.

Children's solo guardian: expect change.

But doesn't fit, jeans sizes small. 

Throw out expensive pair or work on body?

Dropped off my son to college four weeks ago.

I didn't cry.

Kept brave.

Days slip stolen by menopause and hackers.

Found lotto tickets never checked.

Liquor store guy says, "old- if you won they won't pay."

Book of Isaiah 65?

Don't offer food and wine to the gods...
bribery spoils luck

Fortunate to adore my children.

Guiltless give them everything.

Pack up worry ~ it weeds no garden.

Revisions on the next book finished.

Begin the next story.

Please Stop by, 

share abundance of zebra striped tomatoes.

I'll give you a bag. 

Pick the herbs you need.
Sage, basil and thyme in gemstone colors.

Just don't call me an empty nester.

Caroline Gerardo
poem October 2015

Nest in the woods

Sending your children off to fly on their own

The rail road path ahead in life

I have a photo of my two on this whale when they were toddlers. Here they are now 2015 in Santa Cruz California

Hike to the waterfall north of Big Sur

On the way  home from dropping off at college hike
Caroline Gerardo Empty Nest Poem
copyright 2015

Touching the Past

I feel pain on my lips. The upper is not cracked or bleeding, the scar tissue is from the grief.

How long must I pull thorns from my fingers? Is there a measurement when I stop

missing you?

Did my father die yesterday or in the Devonian Period? In dreams, he is a young man foretelling me things.

I awaken. I write down a yellow stained notepad next to my bed. After little sleep in the morning I can’t read the language. The handwriting is poor from no glasses and clouded moonlight.

I started sleeping with the blinds wide open. This allows peeking reflections off the swimming pool or the surf. When I wake up at two and three and four I look over on your pillow and you are not there with your hands on your chest. I prefer my earlier magic trick of just going back to sleep and seeing you in my head wound.

Touching the Sky

Photograph: Touching the Sky

Caroline Gerardo ©copyright 2011