she

when .  where.  how.

today i built things. hammer and saw and drill and sore muscles. two tomato cages and thoughts
today i gave him peaches and made him smile.  he said, ‘i’m alone so much, please come visit me again.’
today the sun was out.

i felt like my old self.  but this time, thirty-seven.
the same age i was when she divorced my father.

i’m a girl enjoying her curves and with dirty fingernails i think about what to wear tonight.
the sky is blue and golden, my face is pale from winter.

unapologetic.
i was not the woman.
you were not the man.
roads converged then suddenly diverged.
i am a bird.
i am gone.

there wasn’t a single time or day that i wasn’t there to love and be loved.

i am not a defense mechanism and i am not here to see you in the mist. i am real and full of error and a bowlful of passion and giggles and late night afterthoughts.  take me in small bites or envelop me wholly.  every day you’ll see or you won’t see. it doesn’t matter.  let go.  give yourself over and let beauty in.

today i stared at her beautiful face and was happy for the small moments.  i ate a slice of homemade rye bread with butter and a cup of tomato soup.  indulged in cinnamon and wrote in my mind as i watched them tell stories of redemption.  i moved slowly and thought minimally.

pour.
sip.
swallow.

tomorrow i try to rejoin the living.

  One thought on “she

  1. January 29, 2011 at 11:33 pm

    pour, sip, swallow.

    I like this focus on the everyday. A mindfulness. Joy in the dirt under your nails, joy in the food you eat.

    Like

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