she used to make me feel like the ends of a loaf of bread—lonely and untouched, a nuisance among false nutrition.
it took years for me to recognize that I was stuffed French Toast—quality breakfast—a delicacy across the world over.
to her, I would never be more, so I left. she would always see the ends of a loaf of bread—ever-present, first and last in line, dependable, yet too tough to swallow.
I am a four-course meal, never-ending hors d’oeuvres, and endless recipes of food for the soul. too bad she’ll never be full from me.
At Jernee’s Burial Site. Sunday, May 31, 2026. Photo Collage Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
eight months later, you still visit me as I’m visiting you, and my world has shifted to peacefulness in other forms.
you were my peace. you were my comfort. you were my joy.
although, it is becoming familiar in the void, I’m still breathless without you.
I don’t think the same. I don’t move the same. the woman I am turning into wishes she had your knowing stare in front of her.
but this is grief… I am covered in love I carry in my bones for you—you’re still in every blink of my eyes and every curl of my fingers.
I can feel you in the gaps and pauses of time—you are everywhere and nowhere simultaneously… and on most days, that is a heartbreak I shovel through until my arms give way to the pain sleeping in their veins.
my forever fur baby—you will never know how centered you kept me—how grounded I grew to be in the comfort of your care.
maybe you felt it as you were dying. maybe you smelled it as you watched me take on your independence when it fell from your soul. maybe you sensed the slowness of every step I took around you—cautious of your weathered bones.
I stand in the midst of temporary silence, birds sing a song of which I am lyric-less, and chickens keep watch over hours of land where my heart is buried, and I wonder…
The Center”Peace”. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
unboxing boneless comfort shares significance with an unnamed peace that has settled within me.
what do I call it? how do I explain the change that is growing inside my heart? it feels like honeyed joy and chocolate contentment.
I can taste the newness of self as the pain fades.
am I finally different in the way I have dreamed to be? or is it perimenopause playing tricks on me?
whatever this is, I’ll drown my woes and bury my fears here.
I am different when these cushions palm my back.
Originally published on Substack Notes: *I purchased a boneless sectional sofa recently, and the comfort that comes with this piece of furniture is on a whole new level of “Yes, Gawd!” It’s still the simple things for me.
A Cornered Gurl 
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