can we skip to the part where
the growing is over,
the pain has subsided,
each bone is stretched
to its greatest capacity.
but is it that easy
for feelings to calcify.
so i wait, or
sometimes wallow,
impatient in the gray.
too far from who i am,
too close to
who i might be.
in my dreams i ask,
do you even miss me?
when i wake i wonder
if there’s anyone left to miss.
i’m afraid i lost the pinch pot you gave me—
not broken,
not stolen,
gone.
i long for its crooked grooves
its hallowed depth
its smooshed shape
from hands.
the knock
on a dinner table
sharing accoutrements
with people i love.
“it’ll turn up” he says
but distraught isn’t a good enough word
for what it’s like to know
that might not be true.
still
i wonder
if we can pack up the pieces
of our lives
and find each other again.
in the hallowed depths
in the crooked grooves
in the space between—
right where we left it.
lessons of the river:
how to remain
and still
make progress.
a trap isn't a place if it follows you.
will it be easier when you're gone,
i think.
i shouldn't.
i shouldn't.
sometimes it seems
the only place we’ll agree
is six feet under.
powdered vegetable ranch
from pouch to container.
sour cream to
The Real Thing.
i wake around noon
to my mother grumbling:
“no one ever helps me.”
but isn’t that the way
it’s always been done.
sometimes you might think,
"i could do that."
but then why don't you.
a heart that drips of sweat
and tears
from a mother
lost, now
finally, gone.
you handed me the pieces.
shattered shards of glass that stretched
beyond intuition.
reflections behind closed eyes, smile lines,
the beauty mark on your chin.
gazing into photos
like a mirror.
we find the strength to hold each other
from a distance.
a familiar but foreign self
fumbling through a life
gifted but
not received.
meanwhile
the black-eyed susans sing lullabies
all year long.
speak back and
i promise,
i will hear you.
eating waffles slow
and you
contemplate the weather.
i consider an arrangement of
clouds and corners.
bits, like thread
splitting
and growing
farther apart.
yoga is like spaghetti
for the mind.
you might not fit it all
in one bite,
but.
there's always more
where that came from.
delve deep into the pit
of your lover's stomach.
some things are learnt.
others,
found.
Where do you write lately? In the office, across from your bedroom, next to the studio overlooking the water. Where is the garden? Do you grow herbs, what kind and how are the animals? The sunshine’s kiss on your cheek? Do you help others? I bet you light a fire in your cabin during the winter, and spend your springs in the city. Do you stroll your dusty driveway, a wildflower outlined path, to try out the town and pick up smiles you've come to know so intimately? You don't think about smoking anymore, but you do enjoy a glass of wine every now and then. The little birds cheep and the leaves blow on limbs and you have grown fond of children, though you haven't any of your own (yet).
If my heart does not skip or stop at the thought, that is how I know. It is how I have always known.
Remember the work. The challenging and vigorous confrontation with yourself. Stare your life in the face with every waking moment. This is a body experience. Make it yours and make it count. And cry, cry, cry, cry! Feel it all and feel it slow, let it build like a pyramid, watch it stand the test of time. Do what you love and follow your gut — please follow your gut — and the rest will come.
when you are standing
in the darkness
and you are scared.
remember.
the shadows are women
before you.
Do yoga (a little bit)
Think like a man
Almost eat cookies
I'm reminded by you in the moments where space speaks for itself. In the times when the wind blows that wisp of hair into my mouth, and my clumsy smile catches it over chapped lips. When I feel what you would say (but I'm not sure) in between teeth when I'm doing something wrong. Or your light hearted laugh when I accidentally did something right (and I know).
We had been driving for what seemed like hours, but I had lost count next to you in the passenger. I watched beads of sweat coat the edges of your nostrils, ducking behind the grooves in your cheeks. The coiled roads had curbed my appetite a new direction, and you slowed down with this in mind. There wasn't much left to eat, anyway: some strawberries, a watermelon rind, empty Lara Bar wrappers. With your eyes on the road, I tried to keep my thoughts on your laughter.
But my retching stomach disagreed, and I pleaded that you stop. The next pull-off was just around this bend, you said. I couldn't wait, I said.
I lunged to the backseat, reaching for the cooler, our only life line. Dunking my head into the hot plastic, fruit flies to puckered lips and closed eyes.
Suddenly, a burn pummeled through the pit of my gut. Chunks of bile leaped from my throat and into the vessel. I heard the scratch of gravel beneath our tires, and began to cry.
You pressed your palm between my shoulders, a reminder you were still there, and I let out a deep sigh. Wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater, I turned to your furled eyebrows that read concerned. Do you want to do this out there?, you said, with a smile. Not really anywhere, I said, and laughed.
It was just before morning and the heat was dry. She poked holes through the knots of her hair with an index, dragging stubborn strays along the way. Twisted, she sat. Her knees were burnt with remnants of crimson clay, still crusted from the day before. Streaks of dirt coiled her beanstalk calves. Growing agitated, she sifted through the loose ends between her knuckles and watched them glide into the wind like a lost balloon.
Halfway from home and the other half nowhere, she waited in the car with one foot on the pavement and passenger door wide open. She rested the other on the dash as she excavated wads of tawny mud from her shoe with a plastic knife.
Suddenly, she heard laughter. She looked up from the artifact only to find an endless sky, alone. The echo of a distant cackle trickled down the basin, quickly like a heavy rain, then silence.
She scanned the empty parking lot, their car the only one in sight. "It's nothing to worry about," she naively concluded. Nervously and cautiously she move towards the larger boulders protruding from the Earth.
She stepped over the tiny rocks like she would a tightrope, steady and unwavering.
"Hello?" Her voice cracked.
