losing again

Ah... Life...
your gifts
are barbells
and hand weights

while in the forest
a fairy dies
stabbed in the back
by the human she tried to
hold

and in the town
the music rings
deep
into the soul of broken hope
 
while in reality, the woman too old for games
laughs
shakes her head
and remembers something solid

love

what it really is...

inside the bubble of real love
no one is allowed to run
and "broken" only opens you
because hearts that connect
do nothing
but open more

and she shakes her head with eyes downcast
because she also knows
that love pretend
does less than nothing

and, scientifically,
less than nothing is negative.
and negatives take away

therefore...
love pretend
takes
from your soul
your hope
your belief

the only gifts that remains
have small hands
more needs
less ability

invisible arms making
mist like embraces
creating aches
where solace should reside  

And, again, she has to manage
the desire to
scrape the skin
off her skeleton

fairy or human

loss

hurts
Perhaps more so
after loss.

slightly shared sorrows

What is broken

Is still broken

It will always be broken

It’s where the light comes in

It’s where the love flows

And today

I felt each crack

Without pounding hot knock-you-over tears

They oozed

Both in and out

Spinning green life tendrils

Into the world, a growing thing

To shade the sun searing sorrow

Of someone I’ve never met

And curling into my own dark crevices

Scratching over scarring spots

Rough rubbing the bits of remaining scabs

And my tears were for her tears

8 years old, so quiet, calm

Eyes like spring skies and hair a soft golden wheat blanket

Straight down her round, rosy cheeks

My tears were for the sudden screams

Even if they are still silent

Stabbing at her mother’s throat, eyes, skin, heart

My tears were for her little brother

Older than my youngest

Too young, still, to remember well.

But mostly, my tears were for the tears that are going to come

Knowing another woman will bend to her hands and knees

Clawing at the walls

Screeching louder than sound

Unable to stand, breathe, think

Head a pounding playground for the throws

Of sorrow

Life dreams and hopes banging against all sides

Of her skull

Simultaneously

I’d take them for her

If I could,

But the same way mine had to be worn

A thorny cloak to build up who I had to become

She must find out how

She will dress herself.

My tears

Were for myself

Because in my desire to help

I am helpless

With no gift to give but the desire to listen

To witness

To nod and offer no words and let my eyes soften

On her, attempting to be a silent willow tree witness

Standing guard

Until she is ready

To stand

Again.

1 and 2...little ones

Do I have a choice?

                Yes

I choose life.

Do I have ANY choice?

                Perhaps

I choose love.

 

Do I have all the choices?

                If they agree

I choose you.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

 

I have no gifts to give but me

Broken

Loving

Playful

Scared

Strong

Full of grief and hope and things I do not know how to label

So

Take my hand.

Walk with me a while

In the woods

In the city

Down the center of town

Hold my hand

So we are not alone

For the best gift

The only one that matters

Is trusting connection.

Nurturing hope

Nurturing the Hope Instead

"Grief can destroy you --or focus you … The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and… the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, [and] you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life."
— Dean Koontz

 

My right forefinger

Finds the pulse in my neck

As my arm drapes around empty space

Where you should be

 

“Where you should be”…

such a simple phrase

except in the ways

it isn’t…except in the ways

That it wears layers

Like a fancy haircut

That came out wrong

Or a special cake

The dog took a bite out of as it cooled

 

Blood pounds

Time tip toes and races forward in turns

And bare feet dance

On old concrete

Peppered with stones, pine needles, frost wedge kisses of seasons and time

 

I see dead people too, like the boy in the movie

Just fewer, more specific ones

And sometimes

I know they are comforted by things

In this world of full moons, stomach bugs, and hair dye that won’t go away

 

We have buckets and backpacks

Filled with hope, good feelings, memories, and foolish choices

They weigh us down, they lift us up, they decorate our world

They make us walk the way we do

With a skip or with a limp, depending on the day

Encourage us to lean toward things that sing to us

Dance lightly with death while praying for everlasting life

 

You empty one and fill the other, or vice versa

Because at times

It may be your vices

That enable you to survive the unpredictable,

Versatile, vicissitudes of life

 

I’m old enough to know

I should not walk barefoot

And stubborn enough to not care

 

I’m old enough to know

That nothing is easy

And few things have Reason

Without your consent

I’m stubborn enough to decide

When I give consent

And how

And to whom

 

So to you,

I hold out my hand

I may trip, I may stutter, at times

But I

Believe.

I see you

And, perhaps,

Better yet

I believe my heart

holds extra eyes

Eyes that judge harder what should be allowed inside my barefoot, sacred, full moon space

 

Here and now, all eyes are staring

Attached to heads that are

Nodding

 

Through violations most intimate

And words sewn into hate buttons on the cloak of my heart,

through what feels like ages slogging up mountainsides

Drenched in judgement, hurt, and shadow shards of broken dreams

Cutting

Deeper

than I ever would have imagined

In any tortured fever dreams of angst and ague

 

There is nothing here

But consent

And I hear a voice

Whisper from deep inside my heart

“Where you should be…

Is where you are.”

 

 

A meeting...but more, a connecting

   1

Her toes were tickled

As she twirled and spun

Singing her song to awaken the trees

and guide the warmth of the moon’s kiss

to the deepest parts of things

 

In the distance, there were sharp sounds

Sounds of metal, death, crashing unconnected steps

 

And so she hung to the tips of the deepest underbrush

While the battle raged

 

Her muscles quivered

Beneath her gossamer gown

As she prepared to venture nearer the place

Where the crashing ended

 

   2

Eyes mostly closed

She saw the form at the base of her tree

As clear as if it were in midday sunshine

 

Mouth softly parted to taste

The air changes

She licked her lips in silent sorrow

At the iron ice of blood song

 

Nostrils flared, she sniffed, slow and deep

And olfactory filters

Sent the minute, lingering memory

Of a large form falling, dragging, crawling

 

Her feet caressed each dent he’d left

Following the path his body had carved

 

And every inch of fairy blood flowing

Beneath her glowing ivory skin sang a song of

Sorrow at the pain he wore

Like an aura shroud, covered every bit of all of him

 

This one, he was not like other humans.

This one, she might just fix,

If her powers allowed

 

        3

And his armor is as white as ghostly night gallows

gleaming

in moonlight madness

kissed and cracked, dented and viscously attacked

yet whole

 

his blood comes

from places unprotected

 

so she tiptoes

sends out her heart to search

hair to hear

and fingers to feed

upon his dreams

 

they fill her

touch her

sing songs so sweet the Seraphim

tremble

in sorrow and desperation for surcease.

 

Thus her only recourse

is breath.

 

She leans in

breaths in

 

and breaks while she breathes

a light leaving her lips

and entering his.

 

   4

till LIght fades and falls into

more light

and dew dances on lashes

 

his armor is aside

 

his pain is, for now, aside

 

he dreams

 

And there are words

Like sunset songs

There are oaths, promises

explanations

 

For barefoot faeries

titles and times, battles and barriers

are next to nothing

 

There is connection.

There is belief.

There is trust

 

One to another, trust where there has rarely been before.

And there is passion.

 

5

To the Fae

when these worlds touch

you touch back

for there is magic there

And so she did

 

And Aine sang

and midsummer melted into the worlds that gave wing to her feet

and she told him he was bound to her

and she was pledged to him

 

and he smiled.

So

she gave him her name

and she kissed him

and danced away on drew drops to the tops of

every tree

 

For him, for hope

The noise
of life can overwhelm me

Voices and
the slip of bills
from between my fingers
spent as soon as they are earned

stomping small feet
prancing a made up dance
and singing songs with no words
repeatedly
till siblings crumble in frustration
whining a screech "pleeease just stoooop!"

the tires are worn out
and the road makes them rumble hum
a warning as they reach for a way
to pull off and spin
to the sides of the road

it's too cold in the house...
I don't like that food...
the cat threw up at the top of the stairs, mom
so I can't brush my teeth!
Because that makes sense?

Life carries loss, pain, noise, needs
and sometimes
if you let it happen naturally
there is poetry
in connection

the soft skin prickled with a goatee beard
faded tattoos
and a muffled side spun giggle

have you seen it?  heard it?  felt it?
the hollow that digs so deep inside you
you cannot see light?

I have.

And for the first time in too long
I've found someone willing
to carry a torch into the dark

There is not a holding of breath here.
There is exhaling shared air

There are words that tumble
trickling easily, softly
a rumbling river tributary
caressing a secret, silent lake shore

A beginning
warm, secure,
wet and waiting
for whatever story
two hearts
decide to write in the stones and sand
at the river's edge.

long overdue update

It's been a while since I've posted.  I keep thinking about writing, and have actually written a couple entries just for myself.  We just passed the third Christmas and New Year's without John.  I have someone in my life that brings me comfort, giggles, a bit of passion, and a lot of help.  I feel that I pull into myself more now than I did before my loss. 

I remember talking with my therapist about how his death would affect me and my life, and how I talked with John about that too...and John was annoyed, saying that he wasn't an extra in my life story.  But my therapist said that he really kind of was...everyone is an extra in your life story.  That's how it goes.  So I was an extra in his life story.  And so on.

I know forward motion is good.  I know always remembering him is good.  I'm pretty close to happy.  And I'm still carrying my bad habits.  I want to start to take better care of myself, and feel like my small house is an excuse not to do so. 

I am crumbles of what I was, before and even with him.  Like candle wax that melted and was scraped up.  The uneven chunks have hair and fuzz and dirt stuck in them, and still smell beautiful.

I look for beauty wherever I can.  I seek out ways to be grateful.  I see it all and feel it deeply.  And still, I pull inward.  I know I am not alone in this centripetal spiral. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I spin on centripetal spirals
of self love and self loathing sliding
into cavernous cages
flanked by flames and a spell to stymie
screams, create a crust and crumble
the wax of your heart
till it spills across table tops and seeps into
wood floors

With a plastic, rectangular white scraper
your hands attempt to reclaim the seepage
rubbing against the grain
till the smooth hot viscous mass, softens, solidifies and, in scraping,
becomes crumbles
crusted with bits of cat hair, tinsel, dust...
a pile of uneven bits of malleable chemical compound
scented and brightly colored
now trash

unless

fingers firm and fearful
pick out the biggest bits

perhaps you can place the pieces
in a new container
without a wick
it still melts and sends the sent spinning

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I want to hope for my future.  I want to lose weight as I am very near morbid obesity.  I want to believe in life.  I know I believe in love, community, gratitude.  I wish these were enough.  But I'm still so closed off.  I pull inward.  I don't know what to do with my conflicting desires to care for myself and to continue existing in a moderately unhealthy manner.  I'm not sharing this on facebook.  This one isn't for the general public.  I don't think I have any widow readers, but if I do, it's for you.  And if you are there, and have thoughts, but not advice, I'd be happy to hear them.  I'm SO much better than I was.  The pain is so much duller...it's become sadness.  But oh, it is still my constant companion.  I promise not to give up.  But this is much bigger than anything else I have ever done.  And so that won't look like other "not giving up" things I've done.  There will be backslides and forward leaps and side steps galore.  I promise to not push until I'm ready, but to keep reaching and trying.  I can do that.  I promise also to try not to think of my back slides as ways I try to hurt myself.  Even if they are.  Because I don't like to think that way.  I hope to find a way to a place in myself where even my subconscious doesn't like to think that way.

May we be well, may we be happy, may we be at peace.