With Pen and Paper

For the people that come in and out of our lives.

[brigantias-isles]

 South Border at Munstead Wood

(Gertrude Jekyll’s Garden)

by  Helen Allingham (1848–1926)

[michaelmoonsbookshop]

Pressed flowers found in a 19th century school book printed in 1844

[michaelmoonsbookshop]

They don't make them like they used to #beautifulbooks

[the-silent-troubadour]

i remember

her

whisper

it always sounded

like the ocean

calling out

to me

on

moonless nights

[havingapoemwithyou]

Everything All at Once by Oliver Baez Bendorf

[withpenandpaper]

Something changed recently

In me or out of me

I’m not quite sure where.

But I am myself.

I feel it so very deeply.

Myself.

It is not a lightness

But a weighted clarity.

It’s been so long since I felt as of the sun.

It was rain. And I loved the rain.

But the sun. It is so very warm.

And I am so very proud of her.

Look at this path she made. All the way home.

It’s funny meeting yourself.

I didn’t realize until now how much I love her.

Beaming into this life.

[angelicdewdrop]

[maxgromov]

[unfxded]

⠀

[mothprincess]

Mary Oliver, from The Fire

[weltenwellen]

Hanif Abdurraqib, "Glamor on the West Streets / Silver Over Everything"

[dame-de-pique]

Ice cave, Mount Ruapehu, 1933

[weltenwellen]

Hanif Abdurraqib, The Crown Ain't Worth Much

[weltenwellen]

Danez Smith, “little prayer”

[neverbreakheart]

[maxgromov]

[flowerytale]

Clarice Lispector, from “Near to the Wild Heart“ (tr. Alison Entrekin)

[maxgromov]

[withpenandpaper]

I thought about you today again.

Your laugh, your smile

The way you would barge into my apartment

Unload the very many things you were carrying

Finally collapsing with a big deep sigh.

It was coming home for the day

But it was not your home, it was mine

How lucky was I to have a space so safe for the people I loved.

I didn’t see it that way at the time.

Grief comes in weird storms

Long days of sun and then sudden grey clouds

Sometimes just a sun shower

Other times there is thunder.

We are in the dark days of the year.

Time of sharing stories when the spirits are resting.

I would share how you were a light in my life, that pulled the very best parts of me out, ones I was afraid of loving, held them up and said they are perfect. You were truth in the uncomfortable sense. And you were love in the violent sense.

I grieve and I am reminded this is a gift.