Week 40

I'm up late again,
Sleep evades me
Evades my tired eyes
My tired heart.

I am sinking again,
I can feel it.
Little messages of hope
Rise up around me,
Little butterfly kisses,
But you tell me how long
Butterflies live for
And then remind me again
How that is enough.

I wish sleep came easier
Right now.
I'm not even thinking thoughts
Just sit here,
Blank
And blanketed.
I imagine the feel of his beard
Against my neck
As he turns over
And in his sleep
Places his lips behind my ear.

The hole is deep
And I am sinking,
But sinking slower with you.

Week 39

We are on opposite sides
Of this mirror.
Do you look for me
As often as I look for you?
Do you watch me as I kiss him?
Do you watch as his hand
Gently traces circles on my back
And his lips find the back of my neck?
Does your heart break a little?

I look for you among the shadows
The cracks
The moonlight in the dark of night.
I hope to glimpse you
And see you happy,
You and your little family.
I wish I could have known you
On my side
Or yours
I guess we inhabit two different planes
And although you're not here
The amount of space you occupy
In my soul
Is overwhelming.

But we are on two different continents
Two different planets
Two different planes.
And he kisses me goodnight
And holds me until I fall asleep.
The way things are
Maybe the way things should be.

Week 38

I worry that you are going to leave my life
Yet I hear you sleeping beside me,
Breathing in the way that is yours
And yours alone.

I want you around forever, you know,
But this sensation is the strangest feeling.
It's like my body always knew you
Yet rediscovering you makes it feel
Unfamiliar but not different,
Like building the same jigsaw over
And over again.
The pieces fitting unexpectedly,
a piece of sky there,
the glimpse of a kiss there,
but the picture isn't complete.
And I want to know
So badly
That all the pieces will find themselves in the end.

You caution me
that everything is in the journey.
I close my eyes and trust you,
blindly let the puzzle pieces
fall into place.

Week 37

Mom and dad always fought,
like hyenas I should say
but I've never met hyenas in real life.
Mom would nip and nip and nip
until dad had enough and would suddenly roar back,
his roar was unexpected
like being dunked under ocean water
and the weight of the wave was a surprise of sorts,
icy cold
on a hot summer's day.
I never liked when they fought
just like I don't like hyenas
and cold salt water
in my ears
and my nostrils,
when for a second you became
a sea creature.
It's just like the wild becomes you
when you live in it and among it,
the dew of rage seeping into you
and burying deep,
and you become part hyena without meaning to be.
I wonder if I can be any different.

Week 36

The lady at church
greeted my grandmother
with a big smile
and said,
"Jesus is with us"
as if it was that simple
and available,
Peace,
Love,
Joy,
Happiness.
I looked around and realized that
maybe I was wrong,
and that maybe it was to be simply found in the pews
and altars
littered on every other street
in sleepy little suburbs
in a beautiful land far away.
Who am I to say differently?
My grandmother was happy,
Mostly,
and happy is something I mostly want.