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Anna Jan 6
I know so many women in pain.

I see you.

Women who know exactly where their strength ends.

Women who sit in darkness and plan how to thieve purpose from pain.

Women who have chosen to survive in the desert.

Women with muddy forearms and gold-dusted fingertips, who have learned to mine treasures from the dark earth of their circumstance.

Women who choose humour and grief over numbness, who choose to be brokenhearted rather than hard-hearted.

Women who walk the uneven ground of their mental health with grace and wisdom, steadily.

Women with towering spirits who are becoming more soul than bone and blood.

Women who hold their families together in their hands.

Women with their hearts half in heaven. Earthside women.

Women who steal starlight from darkness.

I see you.
Anna May 2015
In a time
And space
Where you used to not
Be
He was there
Playing with sound
Moving music around
In time and space
Finding beautiful ways
To create things
Out of nothing

And he paused
The notes held
The darkness waited
While the stars breathed
Between the blackness
And he smiled to himself
Because he thought of you

There’s an idea
He said

And he took his time
Created a quiet stillness
Made the stars listen
And then
Composed you
Out of pure nothing
And the so symphony changed
A little

On darker days you might not
Like to think
That he took such care
That the stars listened
That the music waited
But they did
And he did

And he somehow wove that movement
Into your chest
Because
It’s still there
Mimicking his orchestration
Unwavering
Constant and consistent
Following his arrangement
Of life and death
And the things between

So here it is
One great swirling
Chaotic building
Beautiful mess
Rising and falling
With the score
And he listens
To your music
And smiles to himself

It is good
He says
It is good
(Punctuation? Nah.)
Anna Jan 2015
I remember you
From back then, when
Our hopes hung from ceiling fans
And in the summertime
The air would drape dull and heavy
On our shoulders and
We’d spin around and around
Until we were both dizzy and breathless,
Drunk and defiant,
Steeped in childhood.
And though those summers
Were golden and infinite,
Even we recognized the faintly bitter
And final taste of time going by.

But still the wild winds of our childhood
Rose with perfect abandon and
Whirled us though those sunlit summers,
Through colder days, too –
Through a thousand
Golden and final moments.
And even now
When the air settles,
We know to throw open the windows
And hang our hopes on ceiling fans.
Anna May 2014
If I were younger
And had fresher blood in my heart
I’d stay up late,
In that quiet limitless space between
Deep darkness and soft morning,
And watch the stars fall.
They said it’s going to be
Some kind of storm tonight;
Half of heaven falling through the sky.
Sixteen-point-six (unending) meteors
Every long and sacred minute –
A whole blizzard of silent and distant light.
But even heaven falling doesn’t keep me
From blinking slowly
Again and then again,
And making my way into a soft and dark bed
To wait and dream,
And let the stars fall from their kingdoms
As I sleep.
Anna May 2014
It feels like this:

It’s as if you were falling slowly in love
With something
You knew for certain would later be lost –
And the whole process is beautiful, and lonely,
And cruelly sweet,
Like dusk’s last long rays of thick sunlight.
Or it’s a bitter drink of something cool
On a hot, heavy day, or it’s
Dust painted into
The creases of your skin
From a city you won’t see again –
As if it’s always belonged there,
You just didn’t know.
And the whole ****** thing is
Lovely,
And it might be killing you.
Anna Mar 2014
The hardest year of my life,
I realized that God wasn’t
Going to keep me safe.
I learned that God is the
Greatest risk-taker I know.
And I saw that God loved me
Enough to teach me, exactly, what pain is.
This is it – this is that year.
With little warning I found myself
Being hollowed out by
An acidic anxiety,
Plunged into immobility,
Driven to a savage frustration
And trailed by a senseless grief.
Then, stillness.
A vast and dangerous stillness.
And it was you,
Easily holding all distance,
Who drove me to this barren place.
It was you who weighed
The balance of my life
And brought me here.
And, still, as my heart unwound you watched
With a calmness I’ll never own
And orchestrated each space
Between breaths.
You watched as
It was all stripped away.
And saw what I could not –
A weather-beaten strength
Replacing what used to be
An empty space in me.
But you did not tell me,
And I cannot understand this,
Because I have been swimming
In endless seas of my own weakness
And you never let me see land.
And now, though stronger than I was,
I am still bone-weary.
I feel the roll of waves
And know I now partially
Belong to the sea.
I only ask
That you be with me:
If I am to give way
To the ocean’s iron grip,
Only let me first feel yours,
And I will remember
This as the year I was found
And lost in you.
Anna Mar 2014
When fall has fully seeped into the earth,
And the last empty shells of golden leaves
On the breeze are stilled by the cold ground,
Remember me.
Remember me when winds come
And tug at your jawbone, at the curve of your ear,
Begging your beating warmth out from the safe place
Where your heart keeps it locked away.
Remember me
Because in this one moment I am
Endlessly young, full of life,
Serene and laughing, stretching with all sincerity
Into eternity. In this moment I can be here,
Memorizing the gentle pressure and
Immediate solidity of your hand resting in mine.
If you remember me, I am here
With a quiet hand on your arm,
Or a whispered joke in your ear,
Grateful for your smile.
In this space, somewhere between memory
And bravest imagination, I stand waiting.

But:
Maybe, when your jaw has set
And your hands are empty,
Do not remember me.
When winter has finally settled in
And days are short, do not remember me.
If I am not there to calculate the
Exact weight of a kiss,
If I am not there to read poetry
From the shape and shyness of your hands,
Then surely I am dead, and
Cannot love you,
So do not grip time’s throat,
And do not remember me.
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