26 November 2013

Saudade

I've been mulling over writing this post for the last few days. My hesitation stems from not being a person who is particularly self-pitying. But I've decided to go ahead and write it anyway, with the sincere hope that I don't come off that way. Sometimes dark thoughts just need a little light to turn them into dust motes.

I've suffered some losses, since last November, and I think the finality of these twelve months coming to an end has me feeling left behind somewhere; sort of slogging through repetitive days. I should feel relief that it's all behind me, but I don't. My creativity and my interest in the world around me are at an all-time low and I don't care, which is unusual for me. 

My brother died last January. I'm broken, still. As is most of my family I think. I don't talk much about it, mostly because it's unbearably painful at times. During the year, I also lost a connection with someone I love and by whom I was loved, someone who is "home" to me and will always be. I'm not really sure how the threads came apart but this loss is becoming easier to manage, without all the whys to which I'd still like answers. I've lost friends over the last twelve months; people who I thought would be with me forever. I didn't lose them to death. I lost them to indifference; theirs, not mine. Or perhaps my usefulness to them had run its course. I've lost my faith and my belief that loving someone is a gift to them. I no longer see the good in everyone. Broken.

So, loss, defined by Miriam Webster as "failure to keep or continue to have something". Other than my brother's death, can I attribute my other losses to my own failure to keep them? I don't know and may never be able to answer my own question. Loss is such a personal demon. Some of my own can hardly compare to those of poor souls who lose their homes to fires and floods or to the homeless living out on the streets in this bitter cold. I have a friend across the sea whose father is dying and the grace with which my friend accepts this loss is beautiful. I have a close friend who is ill and mourns the loss of her freedom and ability to enjoy the life she really wants to live. Loss...a demon.

Which brings me to my point. I saw a post on Facebook from a friend that brought it all into perspective for me:

"The holidays can be difficult for those who suffer loss, even if the loss was long ago. I wish all who are feeling the conflicting emotions brought by the holiday season peace, love and a return to joy."
    Kerry Elizabeth Blickenderfer Black

Kerry's thought reminded me that without loss, there can be no "return to joy". That's the way it's designed to work, the way we're designed. Loss serves to remind us of the joy we've experienced. So, I'll remember what a good man my brother was and how blessed I was to have him in my life for so many years. I'll find joy in loving someone who was good to me and for me, no matter that the threads are broken. I'll remind myself that the friends who have forgotten me, will never be forgotten because of the joy they gifted
to me.

"There are moments which mark your life. Moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts, before this, and after this."
     Unknown

Find your joy, in the spaces between. Peace.

26 July 2013

Fools in the Rain

Photography ~ Diana Matisz


that day
we stood in the rain laughing like fools
my hands grasped the rough wet edge of your collar
smelling of warm cotton and summer
your hands pressed against the small of my back
finding the shallow your lips had unearthed that morning
there was no light to discover us, no dark
to lure us down the rabbit hole, there was only
us
two fools in the rain daring the world to see us
hoping it wouldn't glance our way

that day
when we discovered words were dispensable
and the us could be found in tangents and ley-lines
that were always there, but never seen nor crossed
that day
when our shivers were really heat
and our heat cast light on a path
to nothing and everything
we stood in the rain laughing like fools
and took the path to
us

24 July 2013

Palm on Palm

Photography ~ Diana Matisz



















we walked up that hill
palm on palm
before morning devoured the brume
the remains of the night wetting your lips
curling the ends of each strand of my hair
our breaths shivered
in air pink with the shy light of dawn just peeking
peeking over the thicket
as our clothes fell to the ground with the weight
of oak-stained rain dwindling to delicate teardrops
shed in the dark sweet hours
before everything changed
when we walked up that hill
palm on palm

07 July 2013

Interim


fevered dreams
abandoned me
thankfully,
left me
to my own devices,
and i found myself
wakened
from this somnolence
pressed
to curvilinear ridges
to the hard insistence
of cool rough planes
unfurled
beneath me
my fingers
stretched
to grasp every surface inch
of raw hibernal pleasure
you've been storing up
since winter
cached
until i wanted you
in my fevered dreams

05 June 2013

Sampling a Surrender

Photograph / Diana Matisz

rolling over,
as an ivory blade
of morning sun
sliced the night
to pieces,
i ran my tongue
along my lower lip
tasting you
in strands of pearl
remembrances
in wild-sown
bursts
of savory ripe
i ran my tongue
along my lower lip
and drank



04 May 2013

The Music of a Captive Heart


i say shhh
can you hear it?
how can you possibly
not?
i can't write
or read
or think
can't shut it out
nor turn it off
don't tell me
you can't hear 
that beautiful
terrible
melody
harmony 
of stones
skipping
over rivers of tears
be still, listen
you might catch
the soft staccato drum
of a woman's footsteps
in circles, searching
stop talking, listen
to the a cappella rustle
of owls in pines
low moan adagios
of tidal estuaries,
eastbound trains
hold your breath, listen
to broken chord murmurs
of a beloved voice
a virtuoso
reaching for the highest
notes
if all else fails
press your ear
against my breast
put your hands
upon my back
pull me tight
stay there, listen
can you hear it
now?

27 February 2013

I Wonder


























i thought about her today
and wondered
where she'd gone,
that magical
windswept creature
braving the gusts
of an ancestral spring
on a two-tree hill

i remembered that day
and the ease with which
she held herself
once they could cajole
her into actually looking
at the camera
clasping her own hands
as proof of her comfort
in her exotic singularity

i recall she was a dreamer
lost in worlds of knights
on white stallions
and sword bearing
princesses in hennins
easily distracted
by leaves
clouds
the haunting poetry
of a whip-poor-will

she hadn't a care
in the world that day
not one
there wasn't much of a past
to remember and the lumbering
weight of her future had yet
to settle on her shoulders
she was living in her moment,
that day

i thought about her today
wanted to take her
by the hand, run
up the two-tree hill
and hide away,
just the two of us
but i was too late
by the time i'd found
my way back to her,
she'd gone ahead
into our future,
never once looking back
for me

26 February 2013

Birthing

Photograph ~ Diana Matisz

tangled hair
ragged clothes
haggard eyes
weeping contradictions
i stand on the precipice
of this dark wing dream
fingers clenching tidal mud
to stuff in a mouth, agape
staunching the rupture
of untapped love, seeping
vaporizing into air gravid
with fat sodden tears
of a dying winter
and as i lay panting,
this wasted joy
this sanguinary birth
of loss
drifts, ghostly,
up, up through
red nipple buds
of trees in labor
rising, nestling
beneath blue heron wings
this sacrifice, disappearing
in the whispering static
of wings and watershed moments

02 February 2013

Cry Baby




















c
r
y

over
love's
gruesome death spiral
over romance's
spiraling inception

c
r
y

over
loss's
bitter little pill
over
gain's
enriching satiety

c
r
y

when
cruel words
embed with barbs
when
honeyed kisses
katana-arc a throat

c
r
y

as
blows
strangle hopes
as
gasps
regale senses

c
r
y

for
nothing
in particular
for
everything
that matters

c
r
y

baby

c
r
y

31 January 2013

Ma Bell

Photographer - Unknown

























sitting there
she taunts
pristine
cold
silent
vocal cords
taut
coiled
her refusal to speak
a victory
against the need
screaming
in my head
but when she sings,
oh, when she sings
her soprano trill
steals my breath
chills
enchant my skin
i reach for her
press my ear
against hers
and hear
the melody
i've been
anticipating,
my inamorato's
murmur