They dried its flowers and stems. He tells me its name in his native tongue. I do not understand, at first until I smell its fragrance floral and sweet; subtle. Chamomile. He directs me upstairs in broken English; I pray I understand enough. "Grab a bunch, wrapped in newspaper." There in the attic of the duplex that two brothers made homes, I find the dried stems and flower - Grown in the garden that's fed family for 60 years. I bring down a bundle and she, before she lost herself, stands at the stove, boils a pot of water and grabs a handful as the water simmers. She makes tea she makes tea for her and I but doesnt drink a sip she watches me drink she smiles. Now years later chamomile will remind me of them; their home and their garden. How fitting. This flower holds many salves Its simple yet honored Its humble and enduring. Chamomile becomes the symbol of my roots.
Tag: female writer
on regrets
I didn’t believe them when they said I’d regret; I’d build and we'll grow into twisted and tiny fragments of what came before. When I sit in pause they come to me in bursts and breezes I can regret and accept all in one breath.
butter and jam
At the counter a plate of eggs and sausage act as sides to the main act; Toast homemade jam butter spread thick, without apology As a child she added extra; lined each slice layered and thick Butter was her language of love Enjoy this without worry, her actions said Your body is perfect when its satiated sit here let me feed you I can hear her in every bite I see her hands in each layer I smile when a lot still isn’t quite right It’s only ever enough for her and for me when our hearts are full
Horizon
Should I leave us
on that shore
with the imperfect shells
under our hardened feet
your hope matching
the aquamarine of
the gentle waves
mine hollow,
hidden
like the sun below
the separation
of sky and sea
(we jumped to
see its final rays
below)
In letting you go
I fear losing
healthy and
consistent
experiences
of love, perceived
(this loss feels paralyzing)
but if we
keep
on that
shore
jumping to see the
sun's descent
If I hold us
in that water
with the steady waves
and unfiltered sun
Perhaps it won't
be a loss at all.
Maybe its
always been
a gain
I'm not there, yet
the finality of
the goodbye
I still hold on
to memories like
they're fallible
like they are
at risk of
slipping away
if I don't focus
hard enough
But soon I know
it's coming;
the sun is setting
behind its
horizon line
and this time
I won't jump
to watch it
fall.
Garage
One night after
a day of
let downs and
all the rest
I parked my car
in its spot;
let the engine run.
I couldn’t
step out
or turn the
engine off.
You came running
down the stairs
to my door.
You reached in,
turned off the car,
guided me out.
I thought maybe
that could be
enough
Fleeting
yet powerful
moments of love.
Temporary
I so badly wanted it
to be you.
It was temporary.
We were, that is.
That made it
no less real.
I sure did
like to pretend,
though.
I held on
just in case
i was proven
wrong.
Royale (clarity)
you consistently took pictures of me and of us and I'd smile and you'd lean your head towards my own I look at the ones from the Cove and the summer before your eyes are the clearest blue I always thought they would reveal, open I thought they'd let me in Opaque we are together and not in every photograph and I held on waiting for the clear imagining the moment you'd love me enough The clarity was never in the blue of your eyes or in our tent on the Isle it was always here in my knowing that we were temporary fleeting it's why i worked tirelessly to resist it to make us permanent but this wasn't some challenge or journey of worth this was simply two people intertwined in timing and love you were satisfied, content and I couldn't handle the truth in the opaqueness the reality that was right in front of me
quiet
I like him best while he plays his strings kisses my neck existing quietly, together Is that fair when so much of his energy is loud and bold sometimes I think the quiet of the last two years changed me even when I resented it.
smothered
Up until that point I had seen no clearer skies or stars as abundant I remember you in images of the fire on the shore sounds of the dark waves, the blanket on the sand- I read my book instead of looking at you under those stars. And tonight across the blackest of clouds a lighting storm a cascade of lines and energy of matter and change You were both there and not there Just the same as under the Milky Way at the shores of the Great Lakes on the edge of the fire that we smothered with sand and water.
Hands
I left you in July, started again in August. I’ll spend September wondering how you are. You sat there holding my hands, “I don’t want to let you go,” You implored, as if you could not see that I no longer knew the hands in my own. I knew you no more or no less than I had the July before or the one before that. “I miss that special bond,” He said to me, a week after. What bond is silent, I wanted to ask. What bond exists only in two laptop screens and a tv monitor a late night cuddle, a quick- paced walk. Perhaps you did know me more than I knew you. Maybe I let you know me. The me that left and rose from your bedroom floor knows not of how or why two years from the day I asked for promises changed everything I thought I wanted.
The Restless Crescent 