Friday, May 9, 2014

I will

I feel the heavy,
I feel the salt.  I feel every moment
of together and every moment
of empty and gone.  My darling oldest son
keeps telling me how he misses his dad.

The last two nights, we have looked at albums.  He tells me
he is scared that Dad is gone.  He says that scared, to him,
is like a mix of sad and angry.  I tell him that
no matter what I am going through,
that even when I am struggling, I will ALWAYS
have enough
strength for him.

He has been hugging me again for a while.
Tonight he started giving me kisses again.  He tells me
that when Dad was alive, he loved us both equally and now,
now he loves me

I think of the lives I have lived.
I think of the swings that have been taken at me,
at the parts that make me a woman, at the parts
that are my safety place, the areas where
most people
build foundations of love
they have too often been empty rooms and battle grounds

I have refused to stop
pushing through to a place where love
can germinate
deforestation is pervasive
but I have
weapons, of a sort

I know how to send ice into my veins
and stay warm and pliable
I'm not saying it doesn't
But I know how

spider web veins of pain and hope
woven into hammocks swinging through time
are rides
I am familiar with
I may have even woven a few
of my own

I have a small and silent vow:
I will wait until night time

I will give them everything.
I will search my past
each place of pain
I will relive it, if necessary
in order to recognize, embrace
to drink the salt water

there is bleeding
and there is
and I have done both

There is never
a way to keep your kids clean
but there is the option:
let them know they will not bleed alone