I made it back from my dog walk just as the slow rolling thunderstorm hit, and so I climbed back into my bed with the windows open and the breeze on my skin. I feel crappy this morning and I think it’s from dirty beer lines, because I only had two and was in bed early. It’s ok, though, I don’t have anywhere to be for a little while so I’m just going to float here a bit and listen to the rain and watch the lightning through my eyelids. Napping at 9:30 am like a boss.
We could have grown apart the old fashioned way- watched our love get old with the seasons. Maybe it would have left us in the fall. I could’ve written a poem about how winter felt without you.
We could have broken each other’s hearts quietly. It could have been sad but simple- you’d stop laughing at my jokes and I’d fall asleep before you even came to bed. Even if our love had to die, we didn’t have to rip it apart.
I want to go back in time and kiss our foreheads. I want to apologize to our younger selves for what we are going to do to them. I want to tell them to pack their things and leave in the night before they set each other on fire. Go. Go now. You don’t have any idea what is coming for you.
It didn’t have to hurt this much. I shouldn’t still be reeling. We could have watched our love grow old with the seasons.
”—Fortesa Latifi - we could have watched our love grow old (via madgirlf)
and as Cary said, work, work, work, get thee outside. I’m hanging laundry on the line, and continuing with the raspberry cane cluster flock, and touching up my roots with henna and indigo, and dealing with other hair situations, and putting laundry away, and pulling some dead plants out of the veggie garden, and cleaning the freezer, and cleaning out another kitchen cabinet, and generally trying to stay as busy as possible, all while singing my songs for the musical, and attempting to not hash my failed marriage in my head. That part’s the hardest. I can’t fathom this, but it’s happened, and is happening, and so I must find a way to live my life within this awfulness. Maybe someday my life won’t taste so sour and bitter on my tongue.
Feeling helpless and hopeless and frozen. I could sit here and stare at the pale blue wall all day, just track the sun by my shadow projected, let the hours drain away. I don’t want to feel like this any more.
“Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.”—(via nopantson)
It’s a Django Reinhardt kinda day up in this bitch.
Sun shining. Breeze from the window on the back of my neck. Chiropractic adjustment this morning seems to have done the trick with the shoulder from hell, at least for the moment. Finishing market stuff. Laundry. No longer hashing in my head. Poem percolating. Cleaning off my desk. Dinner tonight with a ballroom full of poets, to which I intend to wear a purple dress and dem boots on dem legs. Did I mention the breeze on the back of my neck? Lordy, that breeze is making me feel all swoon with this music filling the house.
1. I finally stopped hashing and arguing and trying to figure it all out in my head, found words that feel clear and concise enough, and hopefully will be received with the same clarity. I wrote them down and delivered the letter to him at the shop just now.
2. I hate this so much.
3. But I don’t want things to go back to the way they were, either.
4. The bottom line is our kid is confused and hurt, and that’s my first priority, which is a co-priority with my own wellness, which seems an impossibility while living like this, so I have now said it clearly. I can’t. I just can’t.
5. I hope I can stop feeling like a terrible person soon.
I’m going to unplug from my worries and dive into the poetry pool tonight. Going to the Mark Doty and Oliver Bendorf reading at the KSU Kiva with Maj & LuAnn, and Lisa C., who is in town for the Wick Poetry Center 30th Anniversary celebration. Tomorrow night is the dinner, and I’ll get to sit with Maj, LuAnn, and Lisa, seeing as I am going solo (as usual).
“See, the real is what the imagination decants. You can be anywhere with the turn of a few words. Some say the feeling of out-of-the body travel is due to certain short circuits in parts of the brain. That doesn’t matter because I’m still drifting towards you. Inside you are cumulus clouds I could float on all night. The difference is always between what we say we love and what we love. Tonight, for instance, I could drink from the bowl of your belly. It doesn’t matter if our feelings shift like sands beneath the river, there’s till the river. Maybe the real is the way your palms fit against my face, or the way you hold my life inside you until it is nothing at all, the way this plant droops, this flower called Heart’s Bursting Flower, with its beads of red hanging from their delicate threads any breeze might break, any word might shatter, any hurt might crush.”—Richard Jackson, from “Ten Things I Know,” Resonance: Poems (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2010)
“You were created to love and be loved. You were meant to live life in relationship with other people, to know and be known. You need to know that your story is important and that you’re part of a bigger story. You need to know that your life matters.”—Jamie Tworkowski (via andigordon19)
“That was the deepest
I ever went into snow. Now I think of it
when I stare at paper or into silences
between human beings. The drifting
accumulation […] How there can be a place
so cold any movement saves you.”—Naomi Shihab Nye, from “Snow,” Fuel: Poems (BOA Editions, 1998)
Presentation is done, thank goodness. I went a little over because I free-styled a few spots. Very glad I brought along two fantastic female farmer friends to talk about the nuts and bolts of their businesses – barriers to success, that sort of thing. They nailed it. My soliloquy was a creative, soulful intro and then they each flew with the details. The Q&A was mostly directed at me and any insecurity I was feeling evaporated when I was able to give thoughtful, knowledgeable, clear answers. I do know my stuff.
So glad to have that behind me.
Now to finish the poem for tonight’s class, or at least get it to where I might want to share it. My front porch is cool and warm at the same time, and the sky so blue it aches.
Thanks for all the amazing support, guys. I love y’ins.