Night Talks, We Listen

He visited me at work for tea one afternoon.

He walked through the office and kitchen of a Georgian mansion, with his faded jeans, leather coat, and shuffle-swagger - slightly crooked, from years of carrying a guitar. 

Stopping by, to squeeze my shoulders too hard, plant a kiss on my forehead, put a smile on to say hello to everyone.

He sat in the lounge, chatting and drinking tea, while I typed a few emails. 
After a long quiet moment, when the lounge was empty of all but us, he said,

"I admire your work ethic."

His voice was soft, and broke a little. 
I looked up from my screen, and his eyes were teary.

"I admire you. I'm proud of you."

I smiled, said thank-you, and puzzled a bit. 

To be honest, it was an unfamiliar moment. I wasn't sure how to respond. 
I was at work, as well...
and I thought those things mattered.

I wish I had responded as heartfelt.

I didn't know that simple gesture - the open vulnerability he offered - would remain so vivid and profound.

That it would be the thing that comes to mind on restless nights. 
When school gets overwhelming. 
When winter months have me feeling low. 
When, for a minute, I can't seem to care enough to do better.

I didn't know then, that he'd soon be gone.

I didn't know how that small, simple moment would embody so much of who I knew.

Perhaps that's what parenthood does; 
some depth of him reached, stirred, shaken gently and told

"Wake up! It's time to love with all you've got."

All you've got. 

The insecurities. The tenderness. The envy. 
The exposure. 
The fear, and failure. 
The selfish, and selfless.

The love... that it be stronger, always humming beneath the rest.

... Perhaps it was some depth of him,

    reaching for some depth of me,
    to say the same.

1952

Tonight...

I'd sift through sorrows to
find moments of smiles and
hand-holds.
Too-tight arms around
weighted shoulders,
quiet thoughts bending my
mouth to frown. Lost
in heavy hard-truth
revelations.

Blue-eye contact burrows,
knowing of depths found early,
taking a toll...

Called back by the space
you'd hold,
bamboo stake standing for
this winding vine to wrap and
lean on.

Tonight,
I'd leave the dirt and roots,
To say to you, today;

This trembling heart is a growing wave.

It is ocean's fullest tide,
and the falls that feed the sea's whip and froth
under immeasurable night skies,
It is the stars -
their wild laughing glee
at my force, in the wind through mountains,
flying bitter cold, to shake the branches
pounding rhythmic, hollowed wood on wood.
All my mighty soul, making music
for being born to you.

My heart;
the impassioned crack
in the shell of the seed
of January fourteenth's
babe.

Louder Now

We live in a culture that invalidates our experience.

Families, afraid to rock the boat,
must "correct" our thinking.
Unhearing.

Partners, in fear of feeling at fault,
dismissing, discrediting, the hurt of another.

From private homes, to society's whole.
A perfect reflection.

Were we ever listening?

The Same Sea

I have some things to tell you.

Although there are a thousands reasons I couldn’t be with you, 

only one why I would have, 

it doesn’t change because I couldn’t.

Do you remember the night we talked? 

We really talked?

I held you - and you, in your way, held me. 

Loving you was a relief I didn’t expect, and an amount I’d never imagined possible. 

I’m not sure how much was said, but we spoke a million words without sounds. 

So much was connected between you and I that night. 

I felt you through me, in my past and my future - 

I felt the impossible;

to feel you so strongly through the stages of my life, when I had to leave you. 

I had to let you go.

That night, I felt like I was a drop of water, and you, the sea.

I floated through, in and out of my separateness from you, until we were merged,
and there was only love.
Nothing has ever been more confusing, or made as much sense, 
as how impossible that was;
That we could be the same water, and it be so real.

We were so gentle with one another... 

Swaying together, like seaweed drifting through low tide. 

Like hammocks in the breeze, 

or the old porch swings elderly couples hold hands on, 

watching the goings-on of children.

Like mothers, nursing babes in rocking chairs.

I was Mother Earth. 

You were the galaxy, the milky way, every star that ever held light, 

and you held me.

For awhile I’d forgotten what you woke in me. 

I suppose I had things too big to be felt for awhile, when you left - 

I had an emptiness to embrace in order to someday be done with. 

Here, on the other side of that, I’m filled with the memory of the cleanest kind of love 

you sparked. 

And the reminder, of what I learned of myself. 

The dreams I have and things I’m meant to do - as true as the love that surged and swelled and flowed and broke my heart that night. 

So I wanted you to know, I’m ready to do them now. 

The tides are roaring again, and this time I don’t fear the action. 

This time, I trust - the galaxy, the milky way, and every star that ever held light.

You are not lost, my beautiful, faceless babe - the depths of my soul and heart know this.

I am not lost, and despite that you were never born, you are the biggest reason for that.

Sunnudagur Musing

Kissed by Sunday morning,
soft light leaking towards me.
My fears and doubts fall
to the floor,
lie crumpled with Saturdays clothes,
your body holds 
my stare.

Under your cover of logic and plans, 
wild and unabashed 
somewhere in there - 
Sheets slip away and my fingers trace
these secrets onto your skin.

Your voice...
In soft, waking moans,
echoes through, calling my bones
to listen.

Your neck,
curling into my breasts.
Lips, balm to the wide, heavy heart,
open to the world 
but no one.

Remembering now,
while you gracefully,
fast and unknowingly
open a pinhole, unleashing it all - 

Sundays were somedays,
maybe nevers,
content to love unattached - 

But here with you,
reaching for me while sleeping,
I am remembering.

Details of a place I've never been -
You have me longing to be there again,

In this kind of love.
Here.
In Sunday morning.

Love You Anyway

I should write today.

Words to say what you were, the complex and convoluted ways in which I learned who I was from you.

I should talk about knowing someone so well - the stages of knowing:
The playground beliefs, "My dad is better than your dad" stereotypes;
The moment you fell running bases at ball, and I learned you were human;
The moments I learned what your struggle was really about.

I should find ways to say the gravity of your loss. 
The way my breath goes shallow at the thought of the rest of my life without you.

But I've none. This is it. 
This year, despite all summons of bravery and grace, I just feel the loss.


The loss of the children I may never even have, that you'll surely never meet.

The loss of you hearing me sing now.
The chance of pride, or if not, even the sound of your critique.

I imagine hearing that - the ways I could improve, the things I should be learning - and calling your eyes to mine, to smile and lovingly hold your stare, both of us knowing what that's really about.
I imagine too, the other side of you, that would maybe sit softly listening, and say something like, "I didn't know you could do that..."
with the open vulnerability you sometimes showed, welling up.

I miss you. I miss the quiet of our similarities, like a low hum beneath the surface of who I am.

This is a love that's incomparable. Our acknowledgement of authenticity, messy, sad, sick - all of it. The space between us that allowed honesty, and safety. 
Our willingness to return to it when it was lost to us.

There is no love, born of acceptance, that I've known like yours.

Love You Anyway - Demo from Rick Edgett on Myspace.

Leaders

Tonight.

I took myself to Tom's Little Havana, and sat amongst the first dates, friend meets, candlelight and Van Morrison/Erykah Badu/Elliot Smith.
All these stories, and how I love to be lost in the mix.

Sitting here hoping to go unnoticed, but noticed, sometimes eyed strangely,
sometimes not given a second glance.
Just a girl in a funky shirt,
bright eyes and deep in her own thoughts,
craft beer and computer screen glaring.

I hope they find me brave instead of strange,
and yet,
that thought wasn't even worth writing.

What matters is that my hands are finally moving,
and I'm bothering to be present enough to document what I'm doing,
Because, see, documenting IS presence,
at least,
tonight.

I am seeing my surroundings.
The four gay boys gossiping
about their girlfriend across the aisle.
The hipsters beside me,
toques and plaid and skinny jeans
big words describing the structure of Alice in Wonderland,
high school kids these days,
reasons for living stumbling out of handsome bearded faces.
The private booths I was hoping for,
all occupied with what is, maybe their 3rd date?
and next table down,
no doubt the first.

Those two... they make sense already.
I hope they make it.
Her thin and tall, and hair on fire
Him sweet and shy -
I've never known an unbending man to date a redhead.

And hipsters,
I hope you change the world,
I hope your ideas don't stay in quiet conversations
amongst those who share them.
I hope you scream them out, in an inviting way,
And eventually rise to the calling of control,
learn to balance the naive dreamer that we're all needing to lead us
with the leader.

And the gay boys,
innocent and shameless,
I can't even begin to say how fucking proud I am of you.
Your gossip is good natured,
Your pride is fierce,
and I hope you remember to be as inclusive as you wish
to be accepted.
You're gorgeous, and if you don't remember what you've been through
and take note of who not to do that to,
Your beauty won't mean shit.

All of you, never stop growing.
There are places you're going,
and despite the buddhist mind in me that says so calmly,
be in the now,
I don't want you to stay.

There is so much more on the way.