In you,
I believe
My love,
I retrieve
No more
I grieve!
Closure (Hour 1)
As the evening sky presses down on the distant hillside, the last lines of light fan apart, streaking thin, like pale darts flashing in a final instant disappearing beyond in the world unseen. Chapters closing on his tongue, swords sheathed, farewells laid into their beds for sleep. Unity, rebirth, or eternal departure resolution rests in the soft exhaling words. Fizzling sparks flame bright, swift recollection calling for the mind to acknowledge, the heart swept up in the current of meaning, lost before she can say his name. Does everything that ends burst apart before it dies? The sunset's retreating brilliance, a storyteller's dagger gleaming, twisting, The mind's feeble memory, illuminating an old face. How sad are the finalities of fire, whisping, choking light, shrinking from the air— a dying dance falling beneath the underside of ash, buried in the remnants of its own consumption.
Passage
I am here alone and
it is twilight –
shadows creep up the walls
to meet me and
clouds pass above me
in the sky.
This, perhaps, is where
I was meant to be:
yesterday, today, tomorrow.
This, perhaps, is where
the end begins.
Now I’ve given it all away —
the things, the hopes, the dreams —
and I am light and untethered.
I am uncommitted and free.
I am, in fact, unspoken for.
Now I take my wings and
I affix them on my back and
I unfurl them and
the feathers surround me and
I arch those wings and
begin to beat in rhythm
until I feel the lift
and am alight —
Some Thoughts on Seeing a Bird’s Shadow
Words are my medium.
And melodies.
Color and composition
are yours.
We’ve always been two sides
of a canvas,
a piece of paper,
Two voices in a song,
harmonizing,
but after all these years,
I’ve learned to see–
the way the colors fit,
the way a scene leads the eye.
When the light shifts a certain way, I’ll call,
Come, see this!
And you come
bringing a camera. You’ve learned to trust
my eyes.
You are curious about words,
rolling them in your mouth,
fitting them into your understanding.
And you’re my best editor.
No one but you knows that word, you’ll say.
Choose one everyone can understand.
You are almost always right.
How lucky we both are
to have found our other half.
learning to hold my own
I slip through the
sterile halls
floors shiny with the
flimsy motion sensor lights left on at night
stuff my fists into the pockets of scrubs to
hide the shaking
to have them held, not holding, for once
these hands that peel
at the seams of my fingernails
little cuts from yesterday’s cooking all red
and aching from disinfectant
these hands that did not hesitate
as I brushed a patients hair behind
her ear to make sure it didn’t get caught
in the oxygen mask
hands that did not startle
when grabbed as I was about turn around,
silent plea of ‘don’t leave me’
but slowly thumbed a circle
of reassurance as I pulled away
hands that clean stains like memories
brush skin and plastic and metal
and pet wrinkles out of linen cloth
hands still in my pockets, shaking,
shaking now,
hands that, earlier, closed gently
over a shivering bird and
set it on the windowsill
raised in quiet awe as it flew away
hands that smashed into the break room wall,
smearing meal moth guts and
wing powder all across
the white paint
my hands do so much and I
only ever realize
when they are shaking in my pockets
at the end of my shift.
Hour One Prompt – write a poem about an ending by Nancy Ann Smith, June 2021
1929 – 2005
Mom’s passing was exactly
What a daughter would expect
And so much more
Mom always did strive
To comfort those around her
With her sweet ear for listening
And so much more
Gerry didn’t dive
Into conversation or debate
But she responded with her heart
And so much more.
Mom would often drive
Home from Sunday Mass
And tell a family story that matched the gospel message
And so much more.
I wonder if she did contrive
To make her hospice days full — of chances to say goodbye
With messages of pride in each of us,
And so much more love than words can convey.
Hour 1
Sense of an Ending
The end, when it came,
Had the sense of an ending,
Something changing but unsure
If real or imagined for so long.
The end was with a cautious step,
Not a leap forward.
No big parties,
Fireworks, public holidays.
A small sense of something new,
Good or bad – as yet unknown.
When lockdown ended
And a new chapter begun.
One hour
Bare belonging
A conflict beyond this oscillating world of pleasure and sorrow,
Everyone is able to hear my scream when I’m happier but not when I’m lamenting.
My inner voice has been superseded by fear.. Fear of experiencing existence.
Yet I’m l o n g i n g for survival.
But the feeling of disquiet won’t leave me,
The battle is between equals—
my ego & my peace .
My scars of yesterday are becoming tattoos for tomorrow.
Am I supposed to flex it as a victory or to mask them as a failure ?
Each ending seems like a beginning—
a beginning I don’t want to witness.
Two Years Later
Excited, and a bit nervous, about the Marathon.
Despite my best efforts, not feeling as prepared as I’d hoped. Have not been writing much these days – perhaps I’ll write about that over the next 24 hours.
First time I did the marathon – 2017 – it was a great experience.
Second time, not so much. I was camping on my property, renters in my house. Internet connection was intermittent at best, and I spent part of the night writing standing at a counter at the local Cumberland Farms. It was miserable. Not sure why I felt so committed to stick out. But I did.
Now, two years later, I’m again at my campsite. BUT, this is a wholly different story!
If I can figure out how, I’ll add a photo later.
Ok. That’s it. Hour 1 has already begun. A few tech issues, but here I go!
GOOD LUCK and more so GOOD RETREAT (Oh, guess here we call it ‘marathon’! hehe) !
shadows of rebirth
too many times, or perhaps not
enough times, I have crafted a new
veneer for this life, for my
persona, after all tomorrow is
another day, and another, and still
more. new beginnings collected in a firefly jar
of wishes to not be
me.
shadow upon faded shadow,
black and grey scars chronicling the
rises
and falls
of my gummed up gear filled phoenix.