“The Wretched Bemoan”     Jo Ann Cooksey Bono

I am the 3 am phone call you never want to get.

I am the child who is now the mother losing her child.

I am the frustration of watching your helplessness and confusion.

I am the anger of you fading into some dark cloudy world that I cannot and do not want to enter.

I am the resentment of having to deal with the responsibility and decisions alone.

I am the guilt that says I could have done more.

I am the one unable to answer the “why” of this.

I am the guttural panic button, the primordial scream…

The fossilized sadness of pain that has been here since the beginning of time; called upon to explain and to release the impossible.