12312011

i will not measure

or tame or deny

the brilliance of joy

or sadness.

i will let it glow

while i sit inside it

and say,

i am here

. . .

i am here

. . .

i am alive.

what is more gifting than that...
and the presence of your love, my love?

12302011

after a truth:

you cried…

the tears fell

from your eyes

like droplets

of liquid glass

and i…

i wiped them

with my fingers

cool fingers…

singed

by the heat

of the agony

dripping

off your face

warm heart…

chilled

by the frost

of the storm

raging

in your soul

12262011

another unsent letter…

Dear W.,

You told me your darkest secret. And now you won’t look at me. You’re avoiding me, and it’s disturbing. And it’s surreal. 

I didn’t ask for this confidence. I didn’t know. It was that intimate moment we shared, wasn’t it? It was that thing that happens when two are together in a silence that holds them and binds them with invisible glue. The closer they come, the less they see one another.

You could’ve held your tongue. But you wanted to tell. Needed… to tell. Your secret was too heavy a load to bear. You needed my arms so you could stay afloat. Or was that just a desire for you to share the burden… the blame?

Now we exchange hellos with measured degrees of regulation. I, with a halting smile. You, with a tremor in your hands.

Will I never glimpse my smile in your eyes again? Will your fingers always rattle at the sight of my approach? Will you never acknowledge that I might forget? Maybe? One day?

But, the harder I try to forget, the stronger your confession rings inside my bones.

Yours,

N.

12232011

she said,

do you remember when we . . . ?

i said,

i don't.

she chattered away

about one memory 

and the other,

her voice fluttering

like the wings of

a disoriented moth,

trapped within the

confines of what 

it does not know.

she said,

do you remember when we . . . ?

i said,

i don't.

i thought how sinister

how odd

the feeling of oblivion,

like a blind foot 

misplaced upon

an unyielding crack,

voluntary or not

but obscuring, always 

the sanctity of memory.

but, what delusion!

i tell myself now.

there is no such thing

as oblivion.

there is no such thing

as a seamless seam.

there is no such thing

as sweeping things out

and shutting the door.

there is always a keyhole

a peephole

a crack.

12192011

for the alleviation of angst:

take one deep, conscious breath.

it is that simple, yes.

key word to bear in mind:

conscious.

this is where the difficulty lies.

12162011

we came together

one last time with chocolate

cake and breakfast tea beneath

a dripping awning on the big town square

and it took me a stretch to comprehend how

fragile the moments, like looming

mirages, and we, like tiptoes

navigating quicksand

12122011

tonight

i'll nurse my kiss-bruised lips

with yours

12092011

i drove home last night

while humming to the sound of the wind.

some existential elation held me high.

and i stayed inside it

while it lifted me higher,

and swept me along

in invisible indulgence.

and last night,

i slept!

and today i write about that slumber

as if it was an event.

it was.

after countless restless

sleepless nights filled

with reading

with thinking

with writing

with breaking life down

into miniature fragments,

exhaustion drew me

into her arms,

pulled my eyes shut

with pillowed fingers,

and said, sleep.

sleep... and then awaken.

and i slept

and awakened

and understood:

only the awakened

are free.