Letters to impossibilities

I'll love you as soon as I meet you. I am in the habit of letting go. I think in color and write with black ink. I guess that's supposed to say something about me. This blog is sporadic and the feelings are often inconsistent. These are the thoughts of a restless mind. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

[ponderingcomplications]

may is quickly approaching she comes undauntingly and without apology i envy the changing of the seasons the quiet rebellion against time as he dares to change the world she fights back with an array of color and a cacophony of noise all the decay begins anew again and life blooms i mark the days to honor her and how she has grown me, this unruly wretched thing that i became, the burden that sleeps within my name the breaths i still take the endings i forsake despite them coming for me she approaches quickly and i have survived long enough to greet her, to welcome her in and allow the days to bloom the way she deigns them to, the wildflowers, the weeds, the roses, the peonies the tall grasses and the willow trees she smiles at me in secret and presses a kiss against my forehead and i remember, all at once, that i am not dead and the heart is loud in my head and in the belly of my chest and i feel it rioting in the pulse in my wrist i exist, i exist

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today a homeless man rioted into existence in front of me, a cacophony of noise and flailing limbs and as he came tumbling into me i steadied him and the security guard came rushing in to rescue me - me... mama asks me why i didn't flinch or run why my first response was to help instead of save myself but mama, i have been staring down the barrel of a gun my entire life it seems, a drowning man deserves saving ( a dying one is waiting for relief ) when i saw him, the belly of my grief whispered "at last, at last..." and it wasn't fear that greeted me in the chaos, in the fray - it was the fleeting hope that today would be the day i could at last get to rest, let the heaviness ease itself from the hollows of my chest and bleed itself from me, and at last, at last, i'd be free

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i didn't recognize my own disappearing didn't feel the color dissipate from the sky, as if all the pinks and golds of every startling sunrise and sunset fell into the belly of the sea, but even she lost every shade of blue that ever dared to belong to her it all turned grey before i could try to keep it or capture it in a painting and then all at once i understood i no longer yearned to paint to draw to color to write all the light and love in my life seemed to have bled themselves from my hands and i startled when i beheld them and found that they were not trembling you see steady hands are damning things - they mean that like the light, the fight has left them and yes, i wrote this poem in hopes i could find myself in the middle of these letters but oh, i know better and oh, i am already gone, i am already gone

[ponderingcomplications]

i wasn't afraid of dying - a wildflower doesn't fear its wilting, we broken things are meant for decay it is much harder for us to stay but still, we remain so, no, i wasn't afraid of dying but i was terrified of what came after - i could not endure the unknowing, i could not withstand the dread because i myself believe that there must be something after because energy is not created nor destroyed, but transformed and energy has memories far deeper than the roots of this earth, and i know when death has come for me it has been my grandmother's hands to stave off his own, my uncle's reaching arms to turn me away from the light and back to the embrace of my mother when i awake from death's grasp like that i lose my loved ones all over again so how could i fear dying if i know that they persist? but i did, i did, i did because i still do not believe i am good enough to go wherever they went to, i wasn't gentle but i meant to ... and the horror of it all would weigh so heavy on my chest, when death came last week, i tried to protest and he flinched as if i committed a sin - i have never, not once ever not welcomed him in but his eyes narrowed in knowing and i met his vacant gaze undaunting, unphased, and i understood the message he gave "silly girl, small child, we all end in our graves of that i am certain, of that i can swear, but the magic is in the journey it takes to get there and why would you let the worry of losing tomorrow mar the brilliance of the day you're living today?" how kind he was, that tired old crone sparing a moment of eternity to help me make peace with all of the demons haunting me and my grandmother's smile came into view and i tell her i miss the color of her eyes and my uncle laughs and reminds me to look in a mirror and reassures me that i will find it there staring back at me and in the belly of relief i come back to my mother's embrace and my father's steady hands and i understand that life is meant to be lived chasing moments like this where everything belongs all at once and i dare to say it is beautiful

[ponderingcomplications]

i could press flowers and bee stings in the same palm and not discern the difference i feel less than i have ever felt before but somehow, that is more and i worry it is a sign i am losing i cannot tell how strong i am, my hands are tired and numb and i am weary and i am weak but i am, i am so i stay i am not in a hurry to go but i am not too eager to hold on i only want to leave those i love with the softest version of myself in their hearts and i worry i am too heavy a burden to endure, too sharp a penance to withstand i only ever meant to be gentle in the end i only ever meant to be gentle

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in another world, maybe i exist differently than this softer, more gentle everything i intended to be but never became maybe my mother's eyes don't darken when she hears my name maybe i never took the light from my father's eyes and in that lifetime, his smile never faltered from his face maybe in that universe i belonged to a place kinder than this one i carved for myself, perhaps my hands are steady and don't tremble when they try to help those they so dearly yearn to heal, in another world, maybe, i allow myself to feel; perhaps i am easier to carry and i am not a penance my parents must endure and i know they tell me otherwise but oh, i'm unsure and maybe in another life i do not wonder about these things because in that life, I would not linger in the belly of this suffering, perhaps i wouldn't be starved of peace, perhaps i wouldn't fall apart, in that world, just maybe i do not have such a wretched, hollow heart.

[ponderingcomplications]

open palmed and weary weak kneed and heavy the hurt runs deep, the grief deeper still i thought i was healing but i doubt i ever will the scars dont come, the wounds stay weeping i cant find relief for the pain i've been keeping pressed in my palms like prayers the hope has been lost and my strength stripped bare i stitch the bleeding i staunch the flow i try to do better but as all things go i fail, i falter, i lose the will to try again i bow my head and wait for it all to end

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and i hope, if i am to be remembered, that they remember me softly, gently, a whisper, not a riot - an ember, not its flame - a quiet, steady thing that persisted despite the suffering, the sweetness to the bitter bite of grief

(to be gentle, i only ever meant to be gentle)

[ponderingcomplications]

i'll press petals in the palms of your hands, nestle prayers between your fingers, i'll soften the earth that turns beneath your feet, i'll gentle the wind to bring you relief and carry you forward because that is where we are going, dear, forward i will smooth the stones beneath your heels, i will soothe the heat from the sun and ask her to be softer in her approach and when the night falls i will steady his presence and give the stars back their light so that they, too, get to shine i will keep your hand in mine and go onward, dear, because that is where we are going, onward i will quiet the noise that chases in our stead, i will make peace with your demons and tuck them to bed i will read them their stories to sing them to sleep, i will settle their wars, i will bring you peace, so just linger a bit longer with me, and just a little bit longer, still, because i will stay right here with you and i promise, i always will.

[ponderingcomplications]

mama today i told a father his little girl would not be coming home she was nine and ran off to school, a cookie in her mouth, a backpack in tow, a hurried "i love you" were the last words she uttered as she ran down the road and that, mama, would be the last the last, the very last of everything for them, the last sunny morning they would ever have the last pair of pink tennis shoes that would ever be left out askew in the living room the last red backpack filled with homework she needed to do but would never get turned in the last heartbeat that would never hurt again the last of everything, everything and i held his hands and then i held him as he crumbled to his knees the agony, mama, the agony of keeping his grief pressed against my own the "whys" i will never be able to answer, the "hows" i will never be able to hold even when those are the answers i do know, the heaviness of the despair from the mother who was there, a ghost in the corner, an aperture, her world ending in the hum of the monitor that did not sing of life but of finality, "more time", they'd plead but the brain death exams were passed and the final bells had been rung and death, he reached for her hand because his time had come and as i folded the sheets against her skin i asked if he'd take me, too, or maybe in her stead, but he only shook his head and the silence was deafening i go home, mama, i take care of things like you taught me to but how do i take care of this grief i carry so deep inside of me, that wells up to keep every family's i couldn't save, the funerals, every grave with a life ended too early to be fair, how do i find peace in the fact that yes, i was there, but i wasn't enough to stave off the end, how do i forgive myself for the wounds i couldn't mend? how do i live with myself, mama, how do i keep going on when my heart is heavy in its grief and my hope and faith are gone?

[ponderingcomplications]

the girl in the mirror seems so heavy, so frail, a monument crumbling, falling stone how could a ghost wear such hollow bones how does the marionette dance without her strings she looks back at me so haunted, so hunted, so afraid, so small a soul too fleeting to have ever existed at all but there she is, there she must be looking back at me wearing her burdens so well you can't see her trembling, shaking where she stands you won't notice her steady her hands when she reaches for you - her touch is soft, her fingers warm, blanketed in the promise to keep you safe from harm because that's all they've longed for from the very beginning, they've hungered, they've starved, and oh, how they've craved for someone to reach her, for someone to save, for someone to lift her chin and set her upright again to make those bones belong to her skin -- tell the girl to turn away from the mirror tell her there is naught but emptiness here if she stays and we mustn't stay her and i, across the great divide of a plane of glass we are naught but a collection of moments past and all that are yet to be - if you see her, please tell her to come home to me

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grief is a heavy thing she visits me mid afternoon she tells me she needs to rest her head she crawls into my bed and sinks beneath my sheets she blankets me in my sleep and haunts my dreams she is at the bottom of my tea in the morning she tastes bitter, she tastes cold she is in my cereal bowl - soggy within minutes, i can't bring myself to eat she is in the rearview mirror and in the highlight beams she is in the rain and the sunlight she stains everything and muddles the colors i can't see anymore but she is blinding and all consuming grief is a heavy thing

[ponderingcomplications]

i tell myself it is time to begin again, to renew to put on my shoes and feel the sunlight on my skin to remember things are gentle if we just let them i tell myself to let my loved ones in that if i just stay in the light long enough, the shadows will yield to their maker and tuck themselves away i tell myself i have to stay long enough to see if there is hope for me that there is growing i still must do, that there is life in me that blossoms anew if i just give myself the time to do so i tell myself waiting is kind and holding on is strong, i tell myself stagnation is still persistence, i tell myself i'm proud of my existence because i am. i am.

[ponderingcomplications]

please set me free from this agony relieve me of my grief ease the hurting in my heart, the aching in my soul, save me from the sorrow that swallows me whole bring me up for air bring me back the light show me the world still has color tell me it will be alright lie if you have to convince me i am wrong please hold onto my hands and tell me i am strong promise me i'll make it promise that i'll be okay anchor me to the moment and demand that i stay because today her heart went quiet and mine is beating still i know the world continues turning beyond my windowsill but the grief is all consuming and the pain is more than i can bear and i cannot go home when she is no longer there

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i should take my meds and i know i should but should doesn't mean i could but i mean, i could and it would do me good if i did but god forgive me for my indisgressions because for the life of me the prescriptions sit in indifference on my counter and i still saunter on by as if they were never my keeper my freedom my chain as if i could be myself again without them but oh, i've disappeared again and don't recognize my hands or the face in the mirror i've never seen clearer how desperately in need i am for recovery for healing but i am no longer feeling any desire to change it's strange i recognize the ghost i've become i know i am numb i know the color returns when i remember to take care of myself but oh, i put the bottle on the shelf and close the door as if to quiet the war of needing to want to live instead of this quiet departure i cannot become the aperture of everything i fought to overcome but what have i done, what have i done

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im angry, mom, im angry because i want to write our story but oh, it would break you to pieces and i would garner no peace from the aftermath imagine a love like that - so much, and so all consuming, that it cost me everything, everything.

[ponderingcomplications]

mama you didn't warn me about the way we lose ourselves to those we love - we give a lot of little things to everyone and we keep nothing for ourselves, as if our love is not enough unless it costs us everything how is that fair to be our own undoing - to rip ourselves apart with our own hands just to make more room for everyone else even the poems on my shelves can't hold this hurt that questions my worth as if i did not bleed enough for my own poetry - but haven't i already? haven't i already? what more can they ask of me when i have given everything, everything?