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.
Tag: grieving
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
Withdrawal interlude
Four days before the third month
I hear your voice.
We talk on the phone.
I shoot up - my heart fills.
We catch up.
I tell you the good.
You tell me the in between.
You abruptly end the call.
The withdrawal begins again.
I fall into my own tears.
The process of grief resets itself.
What’s its shape
“How’ve you been?”
A dull stab to a stubborn wound.
I share that 12 hours of my day are fulfilling.
I work,
I problem solve,
I learn.
I withhold the rest of it.
The aimless hours
ruminating
on the could have beens
the losses.
It's when I'm alone the fear spreads.
Most days the void is tangible.
It’s shapeless.
I want to label it to know it fully.
I’d know its name and greet it warmly.
Loss spreads.
Grief grows.
I think too often of the last conversation.
The ending.
And when it all feels too deeply rooted
I'm reminded
that the anxiety will find
a different power source.
The sadness will attach to something new.
I begin to make peace with the idea
that I can still have you
in sadness and grief.
In honoring the memories.
And so I'll wait
for the days in which
my heart feels less a part of your own.
When I stop visualizing
moving in unison.
Until then, they'll ask,
“How are you?”
“I’m doing great, thanks for asking,”
My heart,
my heart, though.
My heart won’t know
it’s own shape for some time
The Restless Crescent 