Warm air licks the mirror.
Steam sticks, lingers.
Your arms wrap around my waist
My heart sinks.

You rise slowly against my back
Kiss down the shivers in my neck.

My eyes lock on your eyelids-
Closed so you'll see him.

Your hand slides up my back
To shove me forward.
You guide yourself
Although you're always a little off.

I can feel our height difference
in your muscle memory.

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.

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

There's something that just
takes your breath
when someone else's words
so closely echo
the sentiments
of your own heart.

Two poets connected through
black and white words
all because my mind
can read your soul's words
in my own heart's voice.

All because your soul
writes the language
that my heart
has so carefully learned.

All because two people
wrote in love.

The cinnamon smells
better than it tastes, although
so do you, my love.

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.

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.

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.

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.

moaning* | door |

groaning | floor |

come on in

       **you little *****

Everyone talks about how beautiful it is
to be shining with life, to have a slight glow
to be walking with joy, just starting to show.

Friends will all smile and will all want to know
(just like your family) the date and the gender;
If it's a girl, your beauty you'll lend her
but if it's a boy your body will surrender.

They all have a story, a fun little tale
but none have the cure for
the all-day-long hell.

But here's the first secret
I have learned on my own:

I love this sweet baby despite how it's grown.

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

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

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

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

Papers.* So many pages, fluttered away and crinkled to nothing in my hurried attempt at organization. Words. The perfect excuse, or was it an explanation? Inches. Of progress, of circumference, of motivation.

Boyfriends. Because confidence isn't my strong suit, never mind my reputation. Jobs. Because compromise is my weak spot, regardless of my education.

Myself. Because pleasing him was my preoccupation.

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.

A path once used
Beaten and abused-
Come travel with us
Down this path of trust.
Every step's a milestone but
Failure comes when you're alone.
Going, going, going, gone
Home disappears with the dawn.
Imagine a world you can make your own!
Just drop the seed and see what's sown!
Keep on going, don't let go-
Live, love, laugh - never say no.
Meet me in the middle, we'll get there fast
Never try to rush, though, let everything last.
Open your eyes, broaden your mind;
Prepare yourself, don't get left behind.
Quiet! Do you hear that sound?
Roots taking hold in the ground.
Stay on your feet - don't let them hold you down.
Take three steps forward, no steps back
Until you reach your goal, no looking back.
Vulnerability is best to deepen your experience.
Wherever you go, collect the deepest sentiments.
Xerox copies won't work for this,
You must ensure utmost pureness.
Zephyrs guide you, zeniths guard you; don't lose faith,
         your heart will guide you.

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.

It feels like being empty
but
you're filled with all the wrong things.
They hurt you,
but
you like them after a while.
They don't fit you
but
you fill them out.

An old outfit. Comfortable. Worn in.
To change is exposure to more of the same
Which
You secretly crave.

To pull on that old self
and disappear
behind the layers.
So complex you don't recognize yourself
when you're outside.

You can't let yourself heal -
Fresh air stings the burns.
When you breathe it in it hisses,
     chills your teeth
Relief.
For just a moment
A new hurt.

My favorite time of day is
the quiet of the morning in
the space between our pillows
(when my heart wakes up and
chooses you again).

"God is my strength"
were the first words spoken
when we saw your small body
lying still, broken.

"God is my strength"
was braided in the prayer
that your Nana spoke over you,
even though you weren't there.

"God is my strength"
was my loudest heart cry
when the doctor came in
and didn't speak, but sighed.

"God is my strength"
said Jon's hand on my hair
"God is our strength"
his eyes spoke through the air.

"God is my strength"
our eyes locked in to say
while we slept and we cried
countless hours away.

"God is my strength"
as the pain grew stronger,
"God is my strength"
as the night grew longer.

"God is my strength"
as I wept through my prayers
"God is my strength"
although this feels unfair.

"God is my strength"
in the silence that followed
"God is my strength"
my womb and arms, hollow.

"God is my strength"
when the nurse held you first.
"God is my strength"
when the silence was burst.

"God is my strength"
I've never seen this before.
"God is my strength"
I can't take anymore.

"God is my strength"
tiny son in my hands
"God is my strength"
For I know the plans...

"God is my strength"
that day and still.
He holds my baby
as part of His Will.

"God is my strength"
and I know it's best
for Gabriel to be there
where he is best blessed.

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

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