And she sat
Still as a stone
Rigid in her responsibility
Focused
Blocking the rif and the raff
Bouncing in and out of her eyesite
She sat
Alone, stoic
Knowing...
More than she should ever have to know
Like a rung
On a ladder
Her mother clinging on
She is the ground
Grounded
She sits

My daughter
Strong,
Proud, and alone

The lavender surrounds me
that my head will lull into
and my eyes will open
aware it disappeared
and so you fade like
the aged oak that once carried me in its' arms
that lived on 409
and the desire to cross that
street one more time

Ed and his wife are likely
no longer with us
but I wonder what it's like
to not have to make the effort
to have a home
seek you out
and want you
to still be in its' life
but I wonder if I stand here,
next to that stop sign
where I caught up to it
in size

find a piece of you that remains in this world
I can feel the softness of your palm
that never was
I almost know what it feels like to belong
someone's love to pour over me
and not feel greedy or ashamed for needing it so badly

I ache
to be held
to be touched
A moment of tenderness,
touch of my shoulder blade.
dad's warmth for me died
when you did
I wonder if it is selfish
to inquire, that you come home
your spirit can live in my heart
possess me like you want me
as if being my mother
was a privilege

Dad told everyone at my graduation party,
I was unplanned and that lavender where
he and I felt it in our hands,
he put a bushel in my hair
pushes me away
in the home of my own mind.

It whispers, it tries to tickle my arm
but it tricks me and admits
what my own parents, alive and dead
refuse to do.

Resentment has always made its home
in my arms, like warm candlelight caressing
my face as I give life to the wick
It always stings, as your palms did
or not knowing ******* the things
inside of you that made you want to die

I wonder
if it was
the same
when you were
a child

It is not your fault.
You only know that,
it is in your nature to
know pain
like the back of your hand
as you administer it

To know,
children, little girls
are to be docile dolls
in which resentment can be  
hidden under the dress
that's the perfect color
in the tulle, we twirl
and do this dance
it is but, fate's job
for the strings to be cut

The puppeteer, songstress must go down. Her children
to be reborn as the next soprano.

You have ached and
your agony was ignored
so you demonstrated it
you sang with the voice
of the unheard

and somewhere, perhaps,
like the phantom you are
when we both sing, it is the same song
and our throats warble at the same time
in unison
our voices are capable of more love
then we were for each other

Your note
handwritten
in pink pen

on coarse
and crumpled
scratch paper

"Are you okay
lately
you seem kinda distant"

if not then
I'll say it now

I'm so sorry
I must have been
lost

in the weeds of thought
and tangled
in overthinking

thank you for your
gentle hand
and firm grip

Whit Howland © 2020

They're kind of the same:
Falling in love,  
And being sad.
You know that feeling  
when you know in your heart
that the person in front of you  
is gonna fade away little by little,
until you forget about the time  
you spent watching him sing his heart out
until the sun rose,  
and you watched it together.

Yeah it's sad
being in love.

I stayed awake late on most occasions,
thinking about how you came into my life
and showed me all the things that I was missing.
When I was living without you, I was a wreck
and just existing.  I was so alone and lost
with a missing heartbeat.  But when you presented
yourself to me, all single, suave, and strong,
you were the one that I had been searching
for all this time.  I loved the rhythm of your body,
how you invited me inside your kingdom,
and made me believe in something real.

All bonds are breakable.