For so many years
I have counted the
moments. Painfully.
Carefully.
And somewhere –
through some uncountable
cluster of moments
over a lifetime
of years,
I lost
the days.
Some were bad or good
long or quick
Most forgettable, a few
defining.
All
Rolled up into one
Thing. Into
no thing.
Hiding in my years,
shielded by my moments,
not to be remembered
or recalled.
You don’t quite fit.
And I love you for it.
Tight, uncomfortable.
A turtleneck sweater in July.
Too-thin socks in the rain.
Soaking, through –
Sweating, seeping.
I slip you on anyway.
You don’t yet fit.
And I adore you for it.
Now, two sizes too big.
I love growing into you.
A beautiful winter coat,
just waiting for the cold to keep me warm.
You don’t always fit.
My favorite pair of jeans,
shrunk in the wash.
I struggle in, one leg at a time.
Surer than anything,
worn back in with time,
hugging my hips in all the right places.
You don’t quite fit.
But with me,
a tailored match.
You’ll mold to me,
I’ll try you on.
Over and over,
like you’re all I have to wear.
Trapped inside
a cannon ready to fire
from within
at any moment,
is a restlessness
a stirring;
Not lit from
the outside, but ignited
with the spark of a fire
that was thought to have
gone out long ago.
the blast brings
a heaviness into
the atmosphere,
a bitterness hangs –
like burning sage on a hot day.
Breathing in the smoke
hazardous and dense –
is unavoidable
almost addicting.
it is needed.
it is always there.
it is begging to be inhaled.
a seductive masochistic aura
that calls out;
Billowing. Bowling. Bewildering.
knocking me backwards,
leaving me lost in its wake.
and pages to be turned
on sunny mornings
and overcast afternoons
in crowded cafes
on well-worn couches
in waiting room chairs
and subway trains
from one place
to another,
holding our fleeting attention.
there is always time to be passed
filling our hands with anything we can hold
occupying days only to move to the next
in haste, without concern for
all the books that will go unread.
there will always be more coffee
than there are moments to sip it,
and never quite enough time to turn all the pages
taking up space between our fingers.
I have no trouble with twilight. I find solace in the perplexing coalescence of light and dark particles continually colliding, even for the briefest subset of moments. The sun setting as the night rises is a reminder that the clear, harsh lines of the day are not quite as scary as they seem. The boundaries forced upon us by cast shadows are not altogether defining but rather distant attempts to make sense of unreasonable logic, ultimately impenetrable by light or dark. In the mixed hues and undecipherable shadows that befall us at the cusp of sun and moon, we are safe to surrender to the ambiguity.
When I allow dusk to hold me, I leave behind any notions of anxiety. I can let go of the stark realities that move between light and dark and instead sit in the magical dust that settles around me. Breathing in the night and exhaling the day, I find myself in that place and time of solace – not quite enough light left to guide me, nor darkness to reveal the stars that wait sleepily beyond the curtain of the moon.
Discolored specs on pavement
A combination of moisture and gravity dragging drizzles down a window
The gradual pulling up of hoods and pushing open of umbrellas;
Ducking under awnings
for safety from the discomfort
falling all around us
And when the sun breaks through the clouds
and pieces of the sky continue to land on our shoulders
What do we make of the duality;
The existence of something cold and wet
produced by warmth and light
Where do we turn for consolation
When the rainbow is delayed
Beauty does not always stretch across the horizon in brilliant colors for us to admire and bask in
Sometimes we are left only to walk steadfast into the blinding sun, soaking to the bone and waiting.
i can be strong.
or not.
i can be tired
i can be
nothing
laying on my back
in the grass
on a day filled with sadness
or sun
or not.
but,
i can be strong.
pushed into a corner of history
where expectations
were born unto her
before she took her first breath
notions were dragged along her skin
in permanent ink
a map of where her life would go
respect was hers
as long as she stayed within the lines.
In this very moment
You are taking for granted
the way your lungs
are expanding and contracting
effortlessly. over and over
without reminding from
your nervous system,
without stopping suddenly
for reasons you cannot
identify.
i can breathe, now.
and I am blissfully
unaware
of each inhale
moving into an exhale
without reminding.
autonomously, rhythmically
over and over.
in the middle of an afternoon saturated with sunlight
my voice catches
pulling from the floor of my gut
are the words that refuse to be given volume –
to be given life.
when the light consumes me
i can forgive the quiet
it becomes a part of me.
it is in the shadows
that i am submerged in the noise
words clawing out of me
to be freed
from being stilled, silenced –
by all of that light.
Taking It All In 