Monday afternoon in bed.
The sound of lawn being mowed in the distance
The sound of a plane zooming by
Planes make me think of my father
And how time stands still when you look up
The clouds, the moon, butterflies, how light dances for us…
My mind races
I want to do so many things
The list can feel debilitating
And then my dog weighs his head on my lap
His nose prevents me from typing.
Stop, he gently suggests.
I am making space for you, my dear old friend
Nature, Grace, Divinity.
I am carving it out.
Making space for you to guide me forward, what to do next.
The creative burst that’ll poke its head from around the corner, wooing me to –
Come this way.
Continue reading “I carve this for you”
Hey there Jackie,
Happy 1 year anniversary
We love you to the moon and back. ♥
When do I come first?
No, that’s a real question.
Is it after peeing and before taking my probiotics?
Is it after my tea brews and before I check email?
Is it once Jackie is walked, pissed, pooed and fed?
When do I show up for me?
After cleaning up the kitchen and before the clock hits 10am?
After taking out the trash and before the rest of my to-do list comes a-knockin’?
Am I worth the investment?
Time for me hits home the hardest when I see someone else doing it.
A “Wow”, a respect, an inspiration; sometimes an anger, a jealousy, an envy – all of those feelings come flying out of —
My heart? My soul? The little voice within?
I struggle with balance everyday. I know you do too.
Call mum (it’s been a while), connect with best friend, look boyfriend in the eyeballs when he shares a story, hold off the worry/panic/stress/concern/time racing. Leave that at the door. For now. This here. A moment.
You can start now.
A drip-drop of sweat.
And then — crash!
Like a coin in water, the ripples explode and then — stop.
I look at it.
A flash —
All the healthy eats
Sun rays and tree shades from Jackie walks
Arguments with lover (not fights, don’t call them that)
Gluten-free organic ice cream
7am wakes and late night meetings
Freeway-traffic-pondering’s and —
Shazaam’ing music that glitters the soul.
This drip-drop comes loaded.
It leaves the body, rich with substance and prana
only to die, stained here on this cycling bike.
Don’t you know? —
This drip comes from a machine of a woman.
A warrior, with super-sonic strength;
metal armor to shield her from doubt,
and a heavy burdened crown, a reward of perseverance.
This drip-drop is evidence of
elbow grease soaked in thick, raw passion.
Well, now you know.
It is tense, concerned and contracted.
It’s early, the air asleep.
We got broken into. The garage.
Jackie thinks, bonus! everyone’s up.
Dude, I don’t want to take you out for pee.
I don’t want to pick up your poo.
I don’t want to feed you.
I want to breathe.
Give me a second.
What the fuck happened?
Holes in the skin, I feel violated.
Like a car crash.
Thank God it wasn’t the car.
Valuables, inventory, a guessing game of what was.
Jackie’s diarrhea is at the ready.
He paces in circles, tail anxious.
Come on people, he wants to say.
It’s on us, all of it.
Hard not to point fingers.
But who fuckin’ cares?
Damage is done.
The lesson came too late.
Diarrhea out. Next step: food.
Jackie circles us expecting the normal routine.
We stand like fixtures
Scratching our heads.
A fog in the brain.
The day has come.
My man returns.
Like a marathoner, I have ripped through the silk ribbon finale.
Ok, now give me my medallion.
The fear of going at this kid alone.
The fear of having to entertain, maintain, and remain a diligent parent –
The fear of him take, take, taking from me –
It lives larger in my head.
When are you gonna realize, he’s a good boy.
A kind, generous, loving, boy.
No high maintenance here.
And yet, I keep thinking he’ll take, take, take from me.
Continue reading “take take take”
A pain so sharp, it cuts.
Senses are lost in a fog, come back soon.
And there’s a void.
A real one.
Why did he have to go?
Heart beats heavy sighs and legs demand a slower pace.
It takes a million years for arms to move this way and that.
Three weeks is a very long time..
And yet, benign.
I think of those who’ve passed.
Like the pictures of Ron Heren, taped to the fatal pole, the one that ended his life.
A corner where Jackie and I must wait for the lights to change.
Leaving your loved one is like a death.
And yet, so benign.
Continue reading “tomorrow”