She went with fury
brighter than the fire that tore her
Shooting star
rising in ember
Grant me this that’s mine
I like rocks and trinkets as tangible moments. It feels like being an archaeologist of the future who got to travel back to the past they’ve pondered. When seeing a mother tying her child’s shoe at the grocery store feels as reverent as watching a mother stitch a shoe since found in excavation.
What was important to them then? = What is important to me now?
I haven’t picked up a rock in a good bit – how do you choose a stone when your feet feel ungrounded? What is tangible in a state of intangibility?
I don’t know
I guess I ought to go digging for more treasured moments even when the site feels barren, section by section with patience and determination – certainty that something is to be found even when unsure what I’m looking for.
A reminder: that I like this.
Categories
Undramatic
I think of you more abstractly now
Still every day, somehow
in some passing way
I try to let them be fleeting
try not to catch them, hold on
too tight
Let them be but let them go
Who knows what
we’ll see
There’s a poem in a notebook somewhere that asks what edgy means.
When words came down it was of being broken, shattered, that sharp wit cutting even the fingers that hold it.
I want to ride the tumble, be bathed in the salt and accumulation of you until we wash to shore together.
Bright in the sun, smooth for her edges, still the shape that makes me
made softer by you.
that sat me in a room I want to be in. It showed me every sense, the shape and color of me, action that feels right to me.
I won’t tell it here because I’ll show you one day. But the important thing was that it ended with :
Everything I see is love + people + moments + things and I catch it all in curiosity.
Categories
Love him well, please
He beat himself up over everything
punched fist over to bicep
She grabbed his arm and shook said
Get over it you’re fine
Her release was his relief
she left more bruises behind
He healed but ached
his chest tight over banging
She pushed him on sore muscles
Why are you complaining over what you did to yourself
Her words under his skin
he beat them out
She beat him up
Get up and over it all
It’s hard to get over when your blood is pushed around
Call to orders, let’s be civil folks
What do you need beside the obvious,
The oblivious
The mindless and the meek
What are you doing!
Why aren’t you moving get going
Just to seek
(I wrote this some time ago, it matters to me now)
Categories
Let it ring twice
There was a woman in a car on the highway talking on the phone, it wasn’t coming through the car but on speaker for a reason. She could hardly hear words on the other end it was so loud around. A woman was stapling packets by his desk. They weren’t important packets to disturb the phone call over but packets she needed to staple. He sat head in fingers exasperated breathing words so softly a stapler could drown out. It was an important conversation but not one he wanted to be on one side of the phone line for. His white shirt looked darker under the gloom of his mood or a day and body heat ridden. He was hot, this office was so hot he wished at least he could be in a car on the highway with the air there for him and him only, even if flowing with the words of this conversation. A rolling (slightly and slowly) cubicle rather than his postal box with a desk would be a nice place to be if he had to have this conversation. So it went and she went on, passing busses and a truck and someone going somewhere important or not. It was a day for red cars, or that’s the color she was seeing. This hot sun so bright they were maybe all she could see. And the air was broken. It was hot and thick and loud and densely unproductive in every sense. She had to get him through this conversation and ideally before the next highway split, this was not an ideal way to drive and the coming turn was dramatic enough for the moment. A blinker, change lanes, change sentences try not to change subjects, we’ll see though. If the phone line isn’t cut off, oh a shame. A conversation that simply no one wanted to have.
What if ‘what am I to be’ is me
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