If pain
is relative,
then I am drowning
in the same rain
that blooms you.

If suffering
is temporary,
then my clock has
stalled out
from ticking.

If understanding
is mutual,
then my own efforts
have so far outrun
your own
that
relatively,
temporarily
speaking. . .

I stand alone.

stillness
is
translucent red,
if you were wondering

it's the see-through red
of your eyelids against
the sun
invading your
sight
when you would rather
see the darkness
than what is in front of you

it's the see-through red
of the unfinished skin on
the son
assailing your
sight
when you would rather
see the movement
of who is in front of you

At 3:00am I lay awake
wondering what is this
weird smell???
burned chocolate chip
cookie I would call it
but surely that's not it...
Is it the weird mingling of us?

A dream woke me
(I think - it could also be
the medicine that makes
me into someone you like
again)

Oh,
But the dream
was about spit up.
I think because I'm
so worried about him
and also because it's
probably the thing I see
most in a day

At 5:00am I finally rise
from the warmth of our
body heat burrito and
on my way to the coffee ***
I see that your crockpot
concoction is burned
(hence, the smell)

And I just wish

that someone cared

Can you imagine
spending three days
clothed in
bright white light
and a shapeless gown
cut off and
totally isolated
from everything

in a frantic
desperate
aching effort
to be well again

and then

you unravel her

because the escape
wasn't real
and the moment
she lands back
onto the cold earth
she ran from

there it is

waiting for her

worse than ever.

If Christ learned obedience
through the things which
he suffered

Then I will choose obedience
because
I suffer
far less than He did.

A l~u~l~l~a~b~y
   or a tired sigh

            a chuckle

                      a laugh

                 a      dam        burst        open

      A SHOUT
             a cry
(a secret unopened)


                     Soft prayers and sleepy groans
             or stand-up hairs from guttural moans

But my favorite is the whisper
(through the dark
and in the night)
it's the one that
shouts through tears
"it will be alright"

But my favorite is the whisper
(in the soft gold
morning sun)
it's the one that
wakes my heart and
pulls my strings undone.

But my favorite is the whisper
(in the race
of passing time)

it's the one that
shouts from mountains

            you,
         my dear,
         *are mine.

it's familiar and new
how can that be true?

Just an update and a HELLO, it's been a while :)

I started medical school in July, so that's been insane.

And best of all...

BABY BOY HAS FINALLY ARRIVED!

Silas was born on Friday, August 11. He was a big ole 8lb 10z baby and he is absolutely perfect in every way.

My writing has temporarily stopped, but the juices are still pumping in the noggin'. Hoping to find some balance and routine and be back with you all soon.

Sure am missing your beautiful words!!!!

Xoxo,
Abby

Picture it:
a frenzied,
perhaps slightly insane,
blur of a woman
organizing blankets
by their color
and folding socks
so tiny that they
end up looking
like cherry tomatoes.

Picture it:
mint green walls
covered in lambs
and handfulls of
un-filled picture
frames (plus a
hidden smudge
and nail, because
I'm no good with
a hammer).

Picture it:
a belly so big
and beautiful
it takes up more
space technically
than it does
physically because
it outshines
itself with vibrant
life and punches
and rolls.

Picture it.

Oh.
Just picture it.

I can't help but love
the new curves
being paved down
my amazon body

       Tall
        Strong
          Glowing

There's been no better
time for warm hands
to run down the new
roadmap of my skin

       Firm
         Round
           Growing

It's **** and startling to come
into myself so fluidly and quickly
as I am beautifully growing out
after all this time of hating myself
for doing the same thing differently.

Truly unruly.

It's profundity unravels
into the expanding universe

chasing it's own tail toward an
answer that won't be caught because
it's a question that moves too slow.

From time's beginning, or from the
paradoxical idea that we have invented
in a vain attempt to understand what a
beginning is, or could be, or was, or isn't.

Do you ever stop and think of these things? Of how
we have loved since "let there be" and have spent
all of eternity weaving into life from here and there
and everywhere in God and nature's beautiful dance
of unity and life which has caused us to be here, together.

It's Saturday. We're running late for a wedding.

Scene:

**** body, loosely wrapped in a lime green towel
which, I'm sure, makes the paleness of my skin
downright floresce in the warm, bright sunlight
pouring too generously through the picture window.

A mound of life rises like the moon,
casting a glow all the way to my face.

On a Saturday. One in which we are currently running
quite late now for a wedding.

Contrast:

Against the softness of the sun, a backlight glows with
harshly lit updates from hundreds of people who,
to be honest, I keep up with to be kept up with
and I suppose that makes the glare harsher.

My hands curl softly around the glare, thumbing
gently through this distraction in an effort to abate
the sweltering heat of late April in the WV mountains.

It rests softly on my rising moon, the source
of this precious glow far outshining the scene around
me, although the burst of glorious sunlight coming
would prove me wrong again.

Then it happened.

On a random Saturday morning. We happen to be closing in
on being too late for the wedding.

And my hand jumps.

He kicked me.

And you ran to me.

And we watched in wonder
this life we made,
this man in the moon,
being everything but still,
until we ran out,
still dressing as we
frantically raced
our way to the wedding

(which we were not late for)

on Saturday.

Aggravating, but without intention
Because
Insecurities are my mind's
Greatest invention.
Alluded to harshly
In regard to "pretention."
L**onely but loved, despite the contention.

your words were calm last night

so much so that it surprised me

you gently explained that the threat i perceived
was merely an effort to hug and to hold
because you could see the fear in my eyes

you watched my body start to shake and
you saw my mind flash back to before
and leave you standing there alone
while i was grabbed back into another night
a different fight

you rushed to me to hold me
not to hurt me

but the difference blurs in my eyes
and my mind can't seem to sort out
that night from the ones that came before

my eyes couldn't find yours
and my heart wouldn't slow

you did the right thing
but my past
betrayed me in a way that
betrayed you

and
for that
i am sorry

"Protector of clarity"
In the German language
a name which combines
the two people who already
love him best.
An unspoken wish for him
to defend truth, pursue honor,
and live in integrity.
The concern is that in his pursuit
of these things, we will have caused
him to miss out on the lightness.

"Yahweh has given him laughter"*
In the Hebrew tongue,
a name which combines a person
set aside and his father, set aside
specially for me.
An unspoken desire for ease,
joy, and endless laughter to come
without struggle.
The worry is that with this lightness
will come an absence of the
struggles that make laughter
so enjoyable.

To throw someone a rope
inscribed with the words
time heals all wounds
is the cruelest of jokes.

The words wrap around us
like a time glass noose
strangling the chance of healing
as it pushes complacency
into our throats the same as
misplaced sentiments of sorrow
lodge under ours tears where
they cannot escape.

No.
Time most certainly does not
heal all wounds.

On the contrary,
time is the biggest advocate
of learning to live
with the pain.

It was only about
an hour
into our first date
that he told me
my eyes were the ocean.

It was even sooner
that I knew
his were the shore
I would always return to.

the first time
   i craved
kalamata olives
purple and firm
to stain my fingers
and tickle my tongue
with their harsh
sour **** and their
succulent burst
of too-sour juice.

the first time
    i craved
those gummy straws
(in blue specifically)
covered in powder
too sour to even
taste beyond the
jaw clenching tingle
of a feeling rather
than a flavor.

and now this time
       i crave
       lemons
i'll take 'em any way
we're talking popsicles,
candies, lemonade...

and,
this morning,
i ******
on a hard lemon candy
and simultaneously sipped
on a lemonade
and i couldn't help but notice
the difference
the actually incredible difference
it makes
to add just a little
something sweet
to something sour

this time
i crave
anything but
the first time

My eyes have seen the body
of a lifeless tiny son
They have fiercely wept for heartache
when life from my womb was torn
They have held in them the vestige
of a perfectly formed son
My grief keeps lasting on.

My eyes have seen the pink stripe
of a second ray of hope
They have gently wept from joy
while I grabbed the saving rope
They've beheld the wriggling grey shape
of a tiny new sweet babe
My love keeps hanging on.

moaning* | door |

groaning | floor |

come on in

       **you little *****

Growing up on a farm
I lost count of
The hundreds of times
We rotted compost
And scooped manure
In order to make things grow.

I figure that's the reason
I still believe in my life
Blooming.

When life screws you this hard
are you supposed to
     scream?
     Or sigh?
Or just shut up and enjoy
     the ride?

my ego so easily constructs
     a fantasy
in which you, my favorite reader,
       t
           r
       i
           p
over my words and fall into
a wonderland
     with me

a single small s  p  a  c  e
between the blackness of
     these letters
and you fall into my fantasy
where we relish in
     our fetters

we forget to climb back out
as the passion starts
     to mount

we lose our minds with pleasure
hands and mouths
     d      i
           s      c
                 o      v
                       e     r
                             hidden treasure

the words that you pour out
my own that you soak up
leave us beggingpleadingscreaming
till our keyboards
light back up

round and swollen
tears; eyes swollen

waddle and beguile
listen; forced smiles

rubbing my bump
swallow the lump

          a shy little smile, down onto my belly
          cry into my biscuit and onto my jelly

          questions come fast and answers come faster
          ignored and vanishing into the plaster

it's the first year we haven't
taken turns 'round the table
rejoicing that we're
happy
or healthy
or able
   because we lost
          *gabriel