tomorrow, lovely one

tomorrow, lovely one

This is my shadow.
A life a few feet behind me.
That shirt. God, I thought I tossed it.
This smell..brings me back to here.
When it was then.

I sat at this very table processing, organizing, dreaming, concocting.
He sat catching a show on the tube.
I would go to sleep full of dreams and plans and, well, darkness.
Truth is,
How can you build on unsteady ground?
This work is hard and real and very necessary.

These pants. I hope they fit.
Do I still want the books, the socks, the dusty makeup?
Maybe not the makeup.
The muffled city outside taps on my window.
Tomorrow, lovely one. Tomorrow.

My little treetop of goodness.
How it fills my soul.
Silence. No dog. No schedule. No errands.
Not yet. Just. Me.
Hard work happens on an exhaustive plane home,
Unpacking and sifting and embracing my fragile heart.

Eyes like thick drops of oil.
Body like a sleepy kitten. Make that an older cat.
And still,
Mind swimming uphill with zest, or maybe desperation.
Nope.
Tomorrow, lovely one. Tomorrow.

dear jackie

dear jackie
Dear Jackie,

I’m parked and looking over a park
Man, you would love this one
I’ll have to bring you here sometime.
I am exhaling a deep sigh,
Taking a breather. From you.

Listen buddy,
I know I can be an ass. I know that my patience runs thin and I get into my moods.
I know I’m snippety and judgemental and can work from primary colors
I know you know I’m only human (thank god)
And I appreciate that you still come to me when I call (thank you)

You will never get this since we removed your testicles,
but it’s hard being a parent, man.
No matter how much shit I’ve dealt with, there’s still so much more.
And I’m only human.
I. Am. Only. Human.
My imperfections can have scary faces and ugly temperaments (even to me)

Being a parent means being a better version of myself
And sometimes I don’t want to do that.
Sometimes I want to be the ‘youngen,’ the child, the receiver.
I want to chuck tantrums and throw all responsibility out the window
Every single piece of it.

Continue reading “dear jackie”

welcome

welcome

It’s the closest thing I’ve felt to death.

Birth.

5 days of labor and pushing and pain and sweat and utter exhaustion.

Birth.

Hours of almost readiness, a champ in the ring, waiting for her trophy.

Birth.

And he arrives, at a perfect Godly time with absolute intention.

Birth.

He comes uncracked, unwrinkled; life hasn’t stamped her good ol’ reality check on his skin. Not yet.

Birth.

Why do we cry? How does it crack our hearts wide open?

Birth.

We’ve all traveled this channel too. We have got to be as perfect, as divine, as uncracked?

Somewhere underneath. Right?

Clouds hiding the sun, type of shit. Right?

A son. A nephew. A gift.

Welcome.

I carve this for you

I carve this for you

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.

Ok
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”

singing bowl of rage

singing bowl of rage  roman games

I’m furious
I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Blood pulsing
Mind spouting obscenities

How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?

It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
You’re bad,
Back off.

Get off –
No
No
No.

Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”

when do I come first?

when do I come first?

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.

full day’s rest

full day's rest

Full day’s rest.

That’s what I yearn for; sleeping in, steaming soup, away from email.
Oh, don’t you worry, I hear ya.
I’ll give it to you.
You won’t be ignored.

Full day’s rest.

I want rich dreams
With puffy pillows and cuddle-monster chats, and less of this.
I want fiction and other galactic worlds, and Once upon a time’s…
Bones, don’t start to ache.
Wait it out –
’til next week, too much is at stake this weekend.

Full day’s rest.

Close your eyes more often.
Slow down; remember, “in a million years”
You can do it! I believe in you.
Snail’s pace / Nature’s race.

Hot shower.
Brush your teeth.
Shut the laptop.
Lights out.