May 1, 2015

If I were to push you from my mind,

How far would you fall?

Would you crash?

Shatter into a million pieces,

Or would you land on the ledge

Just outside my consciousness

Where you will wait

Before you slowly begin your climb

Back inside.

Ice

​Sunday was Christmas.  I spent  it alone, which, I told myself, I wanted. And I did. It was what I needed. I baked and I ate and I cried. I allowed myself to go deep. 

There was a moment where I imagined my now self going back in time and holding my infant self.  Loving on myself so tenderly, so purely that the love just seeped into my skin. Creating a shield,  to protect me from the things in the world which were waiting for me. Wanting, desperately,  to care for myself, raise myself so that I might become a force  to be reckoned with. 

It only happed once. And only for an instant. But I feel like I’m breaking through. 

Murder


​I cried for the first year of my life. I’m just now beginning to realize what that means. Babies mourn the loss of their mothers. They feel that separation and mourn. 

My screams were so loud, the next door neighbor would come over to make sure I wasn’t being murdered. 

That’s what she told me. That’s the story I was told, time and again, by my neighbor and by my mother who adopted me, about my first year on this earth. 

Now, I think of the pain that baby must have felt, the confusion, I must have felt. 

I wonder, if I’ll ever cry like that again. 

Sometimes,  it makes me sad that I can’t remember a lot of details from my childhood. Then I think of that first year and still feel a longing, but realize it’s no wonder my body aches. No wonder I’ve had the same knots on my shoulders and through my back for as long as I can remember.  

I think of that baby, of me, and wonder what, if anything, it would take to make me feel that way again. And I pray to whatever goddess watches over me, that it never comes.  

The Lean

I stand here, poised on the edge of us

Wondering whether or not to dive forward, or tumble back

It’s foggy here, I can’t see where you stand

It feels like you’re beside me,

But I am afraid to reach out

What happens if you’re not there?

If I lean back, I will fall,

Eventually I’ll get back up

Maybe a little battered, and definitely bruised

If I lean forward, dive into us,

I cannot see the bottom and am unsure of what waits

If I dive, 

I am unsure when or if I will land

What frightens me though, is that I really don’t know if you’ll still be next to me when I do

Nostalgia

The house is full. When it sleeps, each bed is occupied and the outbuilding is filled.

In the morning, when the sun is not yet fully risen in the sky, voices echo and bounce from all corners.

Silence ripples through doors, words wrap themselves around edges and through floorboards which creak as bodies pass over them, up them.

Walls sigh, as they expand to allow bodies to occupy their space.

Shadow

I often regret speaking

as soon as the words leave my mouth

i wish them back

want to pull them back,

I have a desperate need to be loved

Wanted, it’s classic and cliche and yet

there it is

trailing after me,

a sad, wilted shadow,

straining for sunlight

waiting to grow and stretch and bask

in golden warmth

but i shy away from it

find that I love when shadow

merges with shadow

creating perpetual darkness

it is when i am here that i am most afraid

Play Me

You make us coffee and we lay in bed

while you try to play me

Perfect on your backpacker’s guitar.

You say you’ve never been good with rhythms.

You say you need a bigger guitar.

I almost have it, you say,

I’m sorry.

All I can do is look at your hands,

strumming the strings,

slapping out a rhythm.

Disjointed, uncertain,

Perfect.