Wednesday, February 26, 2014

turning heads

today on the way to work,
Cecilia asked me if Daddy transformed.  I asked her what that meant. 
She said "...or did we just bury him?"
I told her we cremated him, burned his body and turned it to ashes.  She asked
if that meant even his feet. 
I told her "yes, even his feet"  and I saw his feet,
slightly crooked toes that struggled so hard to point
while diving: "ugly feet". 

I clipped his toenails right before he went to hospice,
put lotion on his dry, cold feet. 
He loved it. 

She asked, "Even his head?" 
I fought to not
go insane
for the moment
and said "yes, even his head". 
His head that they had to cut into,
his head that swelled and filled with fluid
his head with the dent
his head with the staples, my husband the Frankenstein
gentle, sewed together
a creation
not frightening but still instilling fear.

How insanely playful
he was
How thoroughly stubburn
from beginning to
solid end
never willing to admit
he might not
make it.

such simple complexity
filling every space of my heart,
my life
and now...
there is just too much
every time I turn

Monday, February 24, 2014

note to my babies...

Okay, my little angels…you don’t get much of this now…and so I decided I needed to write to you sometimes.  You need to know that I see that I am messed up and I love you all so much.  Aiden:  you ask me about Heaven and spirits and ghosts…and about chemistry and science and I listen as closely as I can.  I want to hear all your thoughts and help you to think in discriminatory sort of way.  I want to help you think like a scientist who has an amazingly emotional and loving and tender side.  You are my pure magic.  I wanted you more than anything in my imagination could have prepared me for.  You are more than I ever could have hoped for.  You are strong and smart and weird and sweet.  I hurt when you say nasty things about yourself.  I want you to know that I believe in you, your love, your strength, your intelligence.  You amaze me.  All the time. 
Cecilia, you are my magic pill.  Your eyes, your eyelashes, your smile…they are so much girl.  Your features are those of a princess.  Your heart is a lion.  You are so incredibly strong.  You are tough and smart in the most amazingly thoughtful and loving ways…you are teaching me regularly how to be gorgeous.  Because gorgeous is this power wrapped in smart and sweet and INDIVIDUAL.  You know what you like and you fight for it…never ever stop that.  You are amazing and it is your heart and power that make you so…
And Neil…how is it possible that so much sweetness can be wrapped in crazy loud screaming stubbornness?? I thought your sister was stubborn, but you showed me she is just strong willed.  YOU are stubborn.  And when we wake up snuggled, you kiss me over and over, kiss my cheek, give me eskimo kisses, bump chins…you look at me and say, over and over “You my mommy.  You Aiden mommy, you Cilly mommy, you Neil mommy.  You always come back.”  Yes, my angel, my love, my completion…I will always come back, as long as I am living, as long as I am able.  When things were breaking and Daddy was unable to do what he normally did, I had to drag myself out of bed to change your diaper…and as pissy as that made me, you ALWAYS made me smile with YOUR smile and your giggles and wiggles and perfect cuteness.
What I want most for you three is broken in two: first, I want you all to love each other, to be close and there and listen and care and fight and understand that fights don’t break things.  And then, I want you to know that for all my crazy and all my pain, you are the only things in my life that matter.  When I say “I have nothing, I am nothing” I always know that I have you three and I am your mother, I am your homebase.  I want to be whole because I want to be a good example for you.  You help me find my way, but I can’t get there with you alone.  You all give me so much.  I promise to not stop trying to find the things I need beyond you.  It isn’t fair or right to expect you three to fill all my spaces.  Life isn’t like that.  My mom did that.  I fight to find the balance inside my pain and loss and confusion that will hold you all in the light, that will show you all that you can hurt and still be strong, unwilling to give up. 
Always know that you three are the best parts of me and of your dad.  He was a great guy.  I’m a cool and crazy lady.  Right now, I am broken.  In my pieces, I am trying very hard to find ways to let the light in.  For me and for you.  For you…always for you.  I adore you.  You three are my heart, my soul.  I will not always do right by you, but I will ALWAYS apologize when I am wrong and fight to do better next time.
Thank you for being in my life.  I am proud beyond words to be your mother.  I love you all the way to aliens….

Sunday, February 23, 2014

deep breathing....extreme honesty

Sometimes I feel the weight of loss like a literal cross on the back of my neck.  It's been 9 months.  You might think that the time moving forward helps, and I suppose in some ways it does...but really, it is time moving me both further and farther from the time and place where I could hold his hand.  And I want to find a way to make time corporeal so I can stab the fucker.  Repeatedly.  As if it were time, wearing a dark cloak and staring at me with cold dead eyes, who took him from me. 

I had to walk out of church service today because the topic was leaving a legacy, when you know you are dying, how to leave things well...or that is what I get from the three minutes I stayed.  I couldn't handle it.  I went to the nursery and played with my youngest son and a little pal of mine.  And after, at my Chalice Group, I lost it...I just started crying quietly...and another member asked me what was going on with me.  I sobbed into my hands and just poured out, for a brief moment, how hard everything is and how I just don't know how to keep going. 

On facebook, two things messed me up.  The first thing was asking for someone to help me put the items back into my storage room that had to be taken out by my landlord when he was dealing with the leak down there.  My oldest has his birthday sleepover next weekend, and my plan was to feed them and sing and share gifts, and relegate them to the basement for shows and video games and not enough sleep.  Pancakes for breakfast!  But the basement is barely usable.  And no one responded...days went friend who lost her stepbrother wants to help.  I don't know if we will find the time or day to make that happen.  I have to assume we won't and just figure out a way to do it myself.  I know I can.  I just want help.  And I am almost ashamed for wanting...

The second thing was a proposal I made.  I mentioned how I don't have many widowed friends, but I wanted to open my home and ask others to do the same...for games and company and kids and connection.  Two out of the first three that responded talked about how they would love to, but without kids...they even went so far as to suggest meeting a place that was cool.  I would love to be able to do that, but I can't.  That is why I mentioned the "widow thing".  I can't get a babysitter often enough to do choir, let alone go places or do things....that was sort of the point.  I wanted to be able to have company and be social.  Because without a sitter, that just doesn't happen.  I love both ladies who said these things, but good lord it made me mad!  Like they took this idea I had to help me feel not so alone and they made it something that made me feel my loss even more.  I know they would hate to know this was the outcome, and there is a chance they will read this...but it's the truth.

I also feel judged.  I love my church, and for the first time today, it became clear to me that I worry that other people there judge me when I am short tempered with my kids.  And I want to punch people in the throat for that.  I have so much patience...I monitor my tone and my words sooooo often, but I am not perfect.  I am emotional and sad and grieving and angry and all the other crap that goes with these things...and I have no help.  There is no one here.  And I feel so resentful of the fact that my in-laws are here, but do almost nothing.  I know they are unwell, but they could call...Today, driving home from church, I saw a grandmother with a little guy, walking hand in hand with him.  And I was mad...If his parents would call and ask to have the kids visit for a bit, I would fall over myself with gratitude.  If his aunt and/or cousin would offer to watch them for a bit so I could rest or shop or just have a couple hours, same thing.  But they don't.  They get mad at me for not contacting them, but they never seem to acknowledge my need for help.  I'm taking a chance writing this because they, too, could read it...and I don't have a clue what they believe about me or how they would/will react.  But this, too, is true. 

The long and the short of this is I am now alone.  I have three babies to raise, pets to care for, a very meaningful and difficult job to try and do well...and I have no widow's group, no theology class, no choir, no breaks...I don't get to tap out.  And I am trying to do a budget but I still had to put groceries on a regular credit card today.  Even though I am well within what should be my budget.  I don't know what I am doing wrong.  I don't understand any of it.  I want to be strong and positive and honest and real...I want to believe in myself and find hope, believe I will love again...and I also feel like my heart has been deep insides feel raw, scraped, burned...

I need help, I ask for help, I get little to nothing...I have to deal with that, I want to be proud of what I have done, I can't help feeling like I am a failure no matter what I do. 

Nice, light thoughts for a Sunday night, huh?  Come and get me, Monday!!

Saturday, February 22, 2014

natural formations

can I pray to the gods of the wind?
for help blowing through the pain?
At your lowest, you sometimes make choices
that pause the pain
even when you know it is
like a pause button
a dam holding back what will never
be avoided.

The time inevitably comes
when the bandaid is ripped off
when the cracks overcome the

When life before
consisted of absorbing what was,
and the solution which filled the world
is no longer soluble
there is a dryness
a desert
instead of a heart

cartography is a joke

I cannot build a tower
out of sticky bandages
there is no foundation there

I have

I pretend well,
at times

but soul shatter is to your bones
and when bone
is shattered
the ability to stand becomes
a herculean effort

So I want to pray
to the gods of wind
which is ethereal
which flows
which carries
which cannot be seen

what do I pray, though?
what do I ask for?
I cannot ask for the past to be
wafted away
like a burned and ashen mistake

my quest
is for wind to tear me down
grain by grain
and build a new tower
more power than a dune
a form created by the wind of
the erosion from tears
the shrewdness of deposition
you need to stop, grow, do...
yardangs and ventrifacts...


words that sound like buildings from the future
creations that are counterinuitive
top heavy

that's me.  That's what I
NEED to be

created by wind
odd, illogical,
beautiful in its confusing
substitution for expectations

Bring me
The Wind.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Nothing and fear and...don't worry, I won't

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

For love
Of a bear?
Please…for the love of nothing
Other than desperately trying
To not feel alone
To not feel what I feel
Without you, my green lantern

I don’t like this
I don’t like ANY of this
I want a hole the size of life
To climb inside
Not so I can disappear.
So the pain can

Will never happen
I will have to live
With this pain
Because I won’t let go of him
Of his love of his life of his story of his touch
I may not be
Crashing through underbrush
Using my hands to try and catch fish
But I am stranded on a deserted island
Just the same.
I have a secret wish
That I don’t ever want to come true
I want to die
I want to be with him
And as far as I can tell…that is the only way
Let my hands become numb
My heart become numb
My soul
Become numb

I broke rules
To make my heart
Feel softer
I stepped over lines
I drew when I was almost a kid
Lines that almost killed me
For real
Lines I never thought
Would be in the question

I want a hole
That will swallow my mistakes
My fear
But not my loss
My loss is my hero
My loss is the only thing that ties me
To love and hope and some messy version
Of everything
I want to be tied to it all
I just don’t know
If I have the strength
To tie the knot,
To withstand the pull
To handle the burn of it rubbing
Around my heart
I don’t know if I do…
And yet
I have to.

trite sayings from commercials that might make sense

talking to grave stones.  secrets
without voices
that make feeble
free moments of love

how do we dance
with no one's arms?
get jiggy with it, sure,
but who is there for
the dips and spins

Having holding things
without helping things
there is no
tapping out
there is trudging forward

there is family
without the us
that defined
the family

wrap it all in comics pages
scads of scotch tape
crinkles and holes
and uncovered corners

of things to dream for
shame inside the whining
knowing there is so much there
to hold your hand
with nothing
to hold you up

isn't it the saying of the goddess of victory
Just do it.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

flash back- circles and cirlces, forever....

hmmm. a friend mentioned publishing...he isn't the first...but he made me think about structure.  I suppose I think about that often.  I think about how I will never be who I was before I met him.  And about how I will never be what I was when I was with him.  So many doors closed, so many opened, so many paths taken, burned, turned, changed.

I get momentary stress rashes.  I think it is just a physical way for my heart to say "don't forget how messed up you are!"  I scratch till I bleed sometimes.  Sometimes I try good lotions.  I always realize that they are temporary and strong as hell.  I wonder if journeying through it all will help them dissipate.  Funny, because they are like small blisters...and what are blisters filled with but, well, salt water...perhaps they are tears that can't get out my eyes...

When I met him, I had given up on guys.  I had just suggested to the Utz potato chip truck driver I was "seeing" that maybe we try living together.  And it had NOT gone over well.  I was pissed at myself that someone like him, only moderately interesting, would make me feel so much.  So I decided that I would change how I was doing things, what I was doing.  It was too much like Phil...a man from a bar in New Haven.  He would wake up early with me, even though he didn't need to get up for hours, and make me coffee and eggs...and when I crawled in his bed at night, there was always a book wrapped in the covers.  He taught me about good wine.  And I learned how much I love to talk when I'm wine drunk!  And on one Valentine's day, I pseudo proposed (just mentioned the thought) in a bouquet of flowers I had to leave on his doorstep because he wasn't home.  I never heard from him again. 

I decided picking up guys in bars was lame, for me.  I decided I needed to stop smoking and change how I was drinking.   I would take a year off of "business as usual" and a week later, John and Charles did their show at my school.  After the evening performance, John and I talked by his truck for 3 hours, after they let me bounce on the trampoline and I helped pack up the show.  After, that, we talked almost every night. 

And the woman who had been anti commitment for so many reasons wanted so badly to call him her boyfriend, the man who had been a serial monogamist and who now wanted NO commitment.  Strike that, reverse it.  We were role reversals, reversed a second time.

Three years later, he got on his knee in the middle of a show and proposed to me in front of hundreds of people who knew and cared about me.  He shot his wad with the romantic.  But he shot that sucker well and square in the blooded bullseye!

Most of the time, our love was so viscerally simple...we didn't write our own vows.  I searched and searched till I found ones that were right.  Mine talked about how I finally found someone that made the love songs and poems make sense to me.  His talked about how powerful it was to find someone to enter his world.  And we read a sonnet I wrote him, not long after we met.  I broke it up so it was done for two voices.  And Jessica read my favorite part of The Little Prince, the part that talks about how the prince tamed the fox.  We tamed each other.  He took me for who I was, encouraged me to take chances and enter his world, as well as to maintain my own interests.  I let him redefine everything for me.  He defined love for me:  listening, trying to learn how to wait for me to get past my anxiety attacks before forcing a talk, getting my water glass over and over even though it was likely closer to me than him but I had just gotten comfortable...asking for what I wanted.  We were so imperfectly right.  So few things matched, but where we were looking was we viewed the goal made sense to the other. 

I  would like more passion than we had...but I think our passion dimmed because we were tired parents of little kids.  I would like someone who knows how to call me "beautiful" and mean it- the soul crushing kind of beautiful.  But not if he can't listen...not if he won't try.  John always tried. 

Cancer didn't just take my took one of the best all time people I have ever known.  Sometimes, he was way beyond regular selfish.  Often, he said things without thinking about them.  He had a nasty habit of using a callus tone of voice.  He insisted that he was incredibly organized, but in the life I knew with him, that never manifested.  He loved me so deeply and honestly, like he did most things that mattered to him in his life, that even though I constantly worried diving was more important to him, I knew he loved me.  I was still teaching him to say "we" and "us" and "our" instead of the singular pronouns that left me out.  Even after 8 years of marriage, 4 years of dating and being engaged combined. 

What I want to know, that no one can tell me, is how to believe to trust and to be patient and how to find someone.  I didn't find him in some search.  He came to me, like a needed wind on a hot day.  Surprising, relaxing, fulfilling.  I'm not saying it was easy...when we went our separate ways the summer after we met, I was a wreck more often than not.  I was in Australia, he was in Japan.  And he could never contact me enough to make me feel like he would still be there.  I had doubts and fits and fears manifested in tears and breakdowns and idiocy...many of my trademark adventures in life.  But he came back to me.  He always came back. 

I look out, now, at the world from behind my tiny eyes.  And I feel so full of deeply buried strength, yet I walk in gauze-like gowns sown with doubt and fear, confusion and loss...I feel naked in the world.  Naked with a hidden sword.  Knowing all at once that I am frail and I am fierce.  And how do you move forward with fighting, contradicting images like that?  I fear I will dance in circles...forever.

Monday, February 17, 2014

help wanted: soul sherpa

we all exist in our small, sac-like spaces, trying to find a way to fight the pain, embrace the pain, allow for love (both giving and receiving), allow meaning to enter us, give meaning to the world.  And sometimes we try to touch another person.  And sometimes we do.  And really, it always ends too soon, whether it is 8 months, 8 years, or 80.  If the connection matters, if it is deep and sweet and strong, then the severing sucks. 

I fight with so many internal voices it is, at times, is always scared I will become the jaded, closed, bitter vision of my mother and grandmother.  Another screams for nothing but love.  Another is much more quiet...she wants hope and a place to do things that matter, that help, that connect...Yet another wears the glasses of a bookworm and would like to understand and, more, ABSORB, everything.  The biggest problem with all the voices, as far as I can tell, is impatience.

I get dizzy when I think of what I had and lost.  I get sick when I think of ways that I tried to make connections.  And no, I'm not willing to explain that here.  Imagine.  You should be good at that.

Like passion and fire in your veins, like sensuality and electric in moments will save you...I learned that lesson the deep hard dirty way.  But like an addict, no one can tell you...and like an addict, no matter how much you know, sometimes you are swept away.  Into caverns of cool places where choices don't matter and meaning comes from electricity and copper wire veins leading to conducting hearts...

I need a map, a way, guidance, and there is no Sherpa for this ascent.  I am my own Sacajawea.  The issue is not that I am alone in this; the issue is I am in unfamiliar territory.  And the only landmarks are ones I do not like.

I wanted to say mean things today.  I had the right to.  I had a place to send them.  I didn't.  And a few moments after that choice, I realized why I wanted them...why the words called to me:  Anger is not a primary emotion.  It stems from either fear, or hurt.  And I am both.  I am deeply afraid of every step I have to take from here forward, in every aspect of my life.  And I am hurt...hurt that he is gone, hurt that he ended before we really began...hurt that I am blinded by love and by hope and by the naivete which I have fought to keep alive....a Secret taught be to believe I am beautiful.  My Knight showed me I am loveable.  And now, there is me...standing alone, caring for so many small things that matter.  And I have to dig deep...maybe deeper than I am...into the earth.  I have to find a way to stand and move and grow and love....

Goddess help me.  That is a LOT.

losses, when they are wins

and finding your way...
an image in my mind
of a sink swirling the
water away
while someone drowns inside
because the vortex
is more virile
than anyone
ever was

Tangled moments from the past
as you spin
spider webs inside waterfalls
cricket traps
with glue as strong as sidewalk cement
these moments stop you

gaining knowledge
as you gain years
constructing walls not constricting
but full of quotes and notes and moments
spray painted in patterns
of butterflies
and things that shine

How can it make me angry
to know I can do this?  To know that so far,
there is no loss, no thing, no hope beyond him
that can bring me tears?
The brackish rapids
still move you-
how can they not?
the sadness seeps, invades, fills, overtakes

Fire filling up plain
destroys just the same
so many things
but a way to
Get This Right
let the laughter roll at that one
What, I ask, is right?

Just get it.
Just embrace Victory and Nike
success, skill, determination, usurpation
you cannot control the

You rule only the overpowering process
of accepting what comes
in one form or another
So I say
pray to the ones
who make goals and know what it takes
to really

--win  (wĭn)
v. won (wŭn), win·ning, wins 
4. To make (one's way) with effort.
5. To reach with difficulty

Saturday, February 15, 2014

life and death

and texture
moss against your
ice crusted pine needles
freezing finger tips

cracks and wrinkles
that make up designs on hands
like magical markings of
more than just nature

tears make tracks like these
life etches them into
corners of
corporeal coverings
at the corner
of your eyes

a white walled world
carries power
as does the lush green ground
growing and reaching
the sun

bodies and
complete thing-
leaving your own
and melting
till clouds coagulate
and form from you
and everything
that ever was

and reform

rebirth inside
and on the surface of
the earth

Friday, February 14, 2014


can you?
because I want to...
I want to wipe the taste of pain
off my tongue...

I want to never forget
and move forward

without driving too far off
the cliff

no physical evidence
I don't like that
Even though there is physical evidence
that he loved me

Is there physical evidence
that I can be whole again?
Is there physical evidence
that I struggle to believe in anything worthy in my heart
my soul
my self?
Is there any physical evidence
that I

some people, I hear, laugh
at things I do to move on
why would she cover the sink?
It is still there?  And obvious... is my pain
and I can't find it in me
to even discard
his body scrubs.

Different colors:
blue for balls, red for head.
 I don't want
to throw away either
I want
them both.

I'd like to be more obscure
poetic in my poem
I don't play games well

to be found
I remember as a kid
wishing that someone, as I walked away
would follow me
No one did,
until John
He never let me go

NO ONE ever did
until John

I could say that phrase
three thousand times
and no one would understand

I walk away well

I do not trust
nor do I believe

I do
want to

I have these stories
beneath my rib cages
they cut
from inside and they hurt
without bleeding

I believe I can do this
not because of anything
inside me
but because of things

from within...and I need a map.

Thursday, February 13, 2014


ahhhh, snow days...days full of freedom and silliness and no real plans.  When John was alive...

I try so hard to avoid that phrase...but it is everywhere...and when he was alive, I loved snow days...because he would inspire me to play with everyone in the snow...he would shovel, or we would together.  He was so much better about talking with the neighbors.  And when the kids went to bed, there was at least snuggling if not sex...I miss those both so much.  I hate being alone.  I hate the thought of trying to figure anything out...I hate being a solo mom.  I hate what he left me. 

When he was dying, I tried to talk to him, a few times, about how hard it would be for me.  Understandably, he couldn't hear it.  All he could hear, when I went there, was how he would be gone.  But dammit, I am here...and he is not.  I have to do it all, and he does not.  I want him back, and will never ever have him.  No matter what comes next, it won't be John.

I don't know what to do with this part of my heart, the part that believed he and I would be together forever.  With all our wedding pictures, the photos of him holding our babies.  OUR  babies.  The ones we made together in our passion and love and desire.  I will have that with no one else.  That breaks parts of me into tiny, sharp, shattered pieces.

There is nothing to do with these thoughts but move forward.  That saying, about how it is better to have loved and lost...I don't know.  It just sucks.  And sometimes I want to die.  I don't, really.  What I want is love and connection and hope and something REAL.  I want to want to try.  I want to BELIEVE.  All caps.  I don't, though.  I'm not sure what that really means, that I don't...I know I will fight to be the best mom I can be, I know that dating sites are just not my thing...not right now...I know that I am so lonely that everything inside my heart and soul is sore and raw and ragged...and I know...that I am ALONE.  All caps there, too.  People love and care about me.  But the only one on the couch beside me when the kids go to bed, is my dog.  No one holds my hand.  No one kisses me goodnight with passion and desire, not even quiet passion.  And I feel like wanting that, missing it, is whining.  And really, I don't fucking care.  Because I never thought I'd have it.  And I did.  And cancer took it, the shit headed bastard.  And now, all I have are responsibilities, loneliness, and fear.

Party on.

Saturday, February 8, 2014


Heart break
is one thing...I have done that
in spades
I've loved and I have lost
with the best of them

This is soul shatter
It isn't just my
it's my
my future
my dreams
my anchor

It is all

And I look into the
sapphire blue eyes
or our babies
that make no sense- how
do green plus brown
equal blue?  Three times?

And I ache, a thrumming to my thorax
How can
I be
and me?
for them...when so much is caught
swirling in storms
of cancer
cracking a crumbling soul
and squeezing
from a trembling tower
of broken dreams which,
on any given day,
I might recognize as part of me

Lonely in a way that seems to Need
a new level of definition
undefinable in its foolishness
Questioning everything
from strength to health to love

I am

I have

My heart
she whispers these things
to me, so silent secret mantra...
Even as she gazes into sapphire eyes,
so relatively new and so full
of trust and hope

they cannot carry
I cannot get, nor can I expect or ask
of them
they cannot carry it

What I need
are arms
wide as a universe
tears totally
ocean sized

moments filled with years, decades
in order to find time ungiven, unseen, unknowable
yet needed
in order to heal

Time to heal?  please...

These moments inside the ticking of real life time
do not exist
they tumble past

Darling, there is no time for hope
That, my dear,
is what we call

Immature?  Empty headed...

I fought what felt like forever
but time laughs at me
for things,
they keep moving forward
And now..., I am tired

Perhaps it's time

to shatter

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Take it. Slow down, and take it

something happened today...well, that's a bit of a fabrication.  Nothing ACTUALLY happened.  But this morning, a friend told me she dreamed of John's ghost.  He said he missed me and that he was sorry he left.  I cried so hard I was on my hands and knees.  Not the first time.  Not the last, I am sure.

And later, a good friend told me he loved me.  And it's weird because I know that it isn't John's love.  I know it isn't anything huge in the scheme of things.  But he isn't one of those friends that says that stuff easily or much.  And it meant what my first tattoo means...serendipity.

Right now, more than ever, I feel like no matter what choices I make, I can and will find someone to love me again.  He won't be John. Obviously.  But I know, I believe, that no matter what bad choices I make, no matter how I screw up...I am beautiful and amazing and loveable.  I.  Am.  Loveable.  That might not seem like much.  But it is something I have struggled to believe in my whole life.  Even through John. 

I can drink, I can smoke, I can fuck up at work and with my kids and have a messy house.  I can be way behind in laundry and my house can be a mess.  And, when I am ready, when the time is right, someone will fall in love with me, and I will fall in love with him. 

I have been hurt by so many people, by so many things.  And I hate to admit it, but there were times when I was a shit and hurt others too.  I have made so many poor choices in my life.  But I have made amazing ones too.  I have done powerfully good things.  I will continue to fight to do them, to do good.  Because THAT is who I want to be. 

Right now, I FEEL love coursing through isn't as strong as I would like.  But it is there.  A tiny timbre of a throng.  Tonight, it is a little stronger than the loss and pain and grief.  Tonight, I feel like I won't be my mother or my grandmother, even with foolish choices.  Foolish, bad choices.  I repeat these things because they repeat in every life...because they deserve repeating.  Also, because they are just choices.  They do not define me.  I am loveable fat or thin, sober or drunk, confused or crazy or lost or smart or whatever I am, in whatever moment that overtakes me.

The universe is a is a mass of inconsistencies and insanity and chaos.  But people need each other.  That is how we are built.  And I admit that.  I embrace that.  I understand it comes in a multitude of forms...right NOW I know I will be okay.  I don't know how long this feeling will last.  But I will take what I can get.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

even without light

here I am.
I am standing
in soft, gentle rain
about to turn to ice and snow

I am broken
and I am whole
perhaps more on both ends
than many people ever are

I am fearful- to my core-
and still so brave
I am filled with hope and fear in
corresponding, comparable amounts

The lonely that touches me leeches to
the inside of my soul
to the place where things are inside out
yet, for what I had, I have to see
the other side of that
the side of fantasy embodied, of desire made massive

my past taps my shoulder here
she whispers secrets
I never paid attention to
where memory used to convey
pain and loss
the Pain and Loss I feel now show me only
They show me that what was before
was only shadow
that what I have lived through
had more to offer than what I used to

such a slippery dance partner
he spins you left
leaving lingering scents of tears and tearing
when really
if you look
with the magnifying glass of mourning
there were crystalline carvings
of so much more
of passion
of caring
of need
of, even, love
where he only used to spin you enough
so you saw pain

if only there were a time maching
capable of twirling moments
across your finger tips and heart
so you could see
crystal ball clear
instead of what you've always seen
see yours and his and theirs
see within it all
that might manifest itself in
myriad moments of power and
in opening
where there were only closings...

bring me the snow
bring me the heavy things
I have no choice because they are here
but bring them, just the same
let me call
let me scream to the unhearing universe
"Take me, or give it all!"
I can't do it, but I will
and so
in being unable
I will carry more capabilities than anyone
who thinks it is easy

I know things are dark
I know that are sharp
I know to carry swords and lanterns
food, water, pictures of the past
and I know,
deep into caves
I know
no knowing will prepare you

You just

Scales and balances are more than measuring tools

holy shit, that was crazy.  I sat down after a productive day and evening.  I planned my ass off for school, or I think I did, and I made grilled cheese for dinner (which everyone ate- score!), walked the dogs FOUR times, did some laundry, gave the kids baths, and sat down to watch my show.  I looked at the pic I put up on facebook from my wedding, where I am laughing and you see John's face smiling so brilliant and clear...and I shook- LITERALLY SHOOK- with pain.  Feeling confident and decent, to feeling destroyed.

Thank science I have a place to go and type this stuff out, not hold it in.  The last tattoo I got, the Japanese kanji for balance...I need to try to balance...but even when you are amazing at that- functionally, literally, emotionally- within the process there must me moments of imbalance that you then make changes to, in order to correct.  When you get really good at noticing the imbalance, I think you correct quickly and without even noticing much.  But life has been so significantly thrown out of whack for me, in every way, that performing the balancing act that is my life is just not that damned easy.  If only my last principal hadn't acted in such a quietly vindictive way and moved me from 5th to 2nd grade while I was on leave.  At least I would know the curriculum, the expectations, the types of, it is just another part of my world that is massively difficult to weigh and calculate.  I could have taken back 5th grade.  Perhaps I should have.

But I like the little guys.  I like being able to hug.  I like being their to form their way of thinking about themselves...What that means, on the other side of the coin, though, is that I need to also be much more gentle.  Like my teammate says, they are still babies!  I have been leaving that out of the equation and it has been creating a massive imbalance.  I will fight to reintegrate that knowledge.

A sweet acquaintance at church today reached forward to me and told me I am one of his heroes.  He said that my strength and positive nature, that the strength and positivity of John, have been inspirational to him.  He is going through a hard divorce.  He told me when he was 15, his 17 year old sister died of a brain tumor.  He became very self destructive and didn't want to live.  I totally get that.  I hope he and I get to be friends.

Another sweet acquaintance at church came and sat beside me...she and her husband are two of the significant scientific voices in our congregation.  I love seeing them there because of the grounded part of balance they bring.  She sat beside me.  I cried during the sermon.  It was about social justice.  It was powerful.  I cried because of what our Reverend was saying, because of the injustices that occurred in the past, that still occur, because John would have loved today's sermon, because John wasn't there, isn't here...I just cried.  And she put her arm through the crook of my elbow as I sat and was just with me- part of me.  Oh, how that gave me a sense of honor and comfort.  Just like the openness and sharing of that other person.  How blessed I am to have found this eclectic, intelligent, caring community, willing to embrace, accept, and hold me.

I will try to breathe in their love, their intelligence, their belief, and keep on being an inspiration.  I am imperfect.  And I will never stop fighting to find a way to balance...

Night fruits

The night
circles and swirls around
and inside me
deeper than you might imagine

die, rip and tear down to blood
nothing stops...
It is not how long a thing lasts
it is, in fact,
how much you enjoy it while it is there

As much as the motion
and emotion move you
your tools
When your cup is so close
to vacant
Your motions become

what nutrients do you derive
from a plastic apple?
Give me the real
the imperfect
filled with juice and crunch and covered
in bruises
connected to
and inviting in

Let me linger
with corporeal, substantial sugars
sweetening my lips, making them

Even inhabiting the night swirls,
I want the real.