Skinny Love

Hello world.  I'm writing this post at Cushman's Market, next to a father who is reading a story to his young daughter.  My, what a beautiful world we live in.  It warms my heart to hear their tender interaction.  I am reminded of when I was with my mother in the hospital in September.  Every time a baby was born, they would ring a lullaby charm throughout the hospital.  It reminds me of the cycle of life, death, birth, love, hurt, passion, introspection, light, darkness, sun, and moon.

So I know I've been posting lots of darker, "emo" (cringe- I hate that word) posts lately.  As my friends and family know so well, I'm a woman of ever-changing moon phases.  When I'm in my full moon phase, I burn bright and shine my sun.  When I'm in my new moon phase, I turn introspective and examine those black, cavernous parts of myself.  I've been in an introspective, new moon phase over the past several months.  And I appreciate all of your love and support as I continue to navigate the changing landscape of my life.  I continue to amaze myself with my resilience.  My therapist will often have me identify my strengths during session, and I tend to place singing, playing music, writing, or art at the top of my list.  But, in thinking through the past 27 (almost 28!) years of my life, my resilience has to be listed at the very top of my list.  Through death, cancer, sexual assault, illness, broken hearts, broken bones, divorce, poverty, grad school... I continue to take the blows of life.  And, somehow, at the end of the day, I manage to stand up, dust myself off, and prepare for the next chapter.

In the time between my road trip and the present moment, I've been blessed to have a plethora of interesting, terrifying, beautiful, and new experiences.  I've continued strengthen my sense-of-self.  For me, part of building my core is turning dark and introspective from time to time.  These past 4 months have found my heart shaken, but my core stable and strong.  I push on in my quest to live wide open.

And, as always, I leave you with one of my favorite songs by Bon Iver (and some poems by me):

"And I told you to be patient 

And I told you to be kind

And I told you to be balanced

And I told you to be kind

And in the morning I'll be with you

But it will be a different kind

Cause I'll be holding all the tickets

And you'll be owing all the fines

And now all your love is wasted

Then who the hell was I?

Cause now I'm breaking at the britches

At the end of all your lines

Who will love you?

Who will fight?

Who will fall far behind?

Come on skinny love, just last the year."

-Bon Iver

  

-Dried Up-

All of the men in my life rip in like tornados,
   Strong, whipping, intense, and gone.
You,
   Were a gentle rainstorm.
You rained your softness on me
   And on the fertile chambers of my heart.

One day, you dried up.
No words, no lingering trickle.
You had blown clear out of my sky.
I searched for you under pillows,
   Between the sentences that you read to me late at night,
      In the river where we played,
         In your written words,
            In your mother’s eyes,
But there was no trace of your soft, gentle rain.

And so I carry on, wondering about your curious ways.
My heart is left a little parched,
   Cracked and dry like the caked dirt of the prairie without its summer rain.
I look over my shoulder,
   Feeling your presence,
      Feeling some hint of a heavy, dark rain cloud behind me,
But all I see is my sun.
And she’s beautiful.
But sometimes she burns too bright for my eyes.
You, of all people, understood that.

So let’s meet each other, love,
   On some soft, rainy day.
We can kiss and you can water my heart again.
I promise my sun won’t burn you down,
   If you promise not to flood me again.


-Cars-

I woke up this morning and tried to shake my head clear.
I heard the sounds of the cars as they splashed through the rainy day outside my window.
And I confused them for the stable sound of your breathing,
Which has serenaded me through the past six years.

There is this little place on your chest where I would lay the palm of my hand,
Butted up against the groove of your sternum.
It is my favorite place, and sometimes I find myself reaching for it in the night,
Only to have my hand fall limp on the pillow next to me,
Or on the chest of the one who has taken your place.

There are days where I forget how to put one foot in front of the other.
And there are days when I run.
There are days when I'm struck by the cold emptiness in our marriage bed.
And there are days when I sprawl out, completely content.

We hurtle across the Earth's crust in these metal objects, these cars.
Sometimes we crash into one another,
Our metal melted, twisted, and tangled up,
Flames smoking,
Spectators crying.
They call the ambulance to come rescue our Selves,
To pull us apart,
And make us whole again.