i hate all the things i have done so far
nothing feels right

in my stomach
a peach pit full of dread
a swift shock of fear
a perfectly placed punch
to the softness that sits at my core

listless -
am i lying to myself?
cowering in the corner
creature-like
with hands covering eyes

sorting -
separation of this feeling
from my true center
is taking energy
that i'm unsure i have

There is major disconnect
Of that I am sure
Is it me or is it you?

There was a time when
The sky was always a brilliant blue
Was that me or was it you?

Love poured freely
From my heart and yours
It pours more slowly now

Hands intertwined
Left no space for doubt
There are small gaps now

Is there time
To go back in time
For us?

Begin by noticing
What do you see?
The orange hot coil of the stove’s burner
Soft, buttery light from the living room window
Bicycle helmet dangling from the corner of a kitchen chair
Sharp sun shadows on the wood floor
Folded clothes that need a home
Two sips of lukewarm coffee in a mug
A new morning slowly shifts into the past

It might feel as though we are standing near the edge
While a strong wind pushes from behind
Threatening to blow us over
Unless we plant our feet
and stand tall like a mountain

I want to write about her
Brown hair curves in to meet under a soft chin
Wide, dark eyes pierce with calculated curiosity
A million and one half emotions take shape

They share the same intensity in their eyes
The same broad nose and wide mouthed smile
Sometimes aloof or unapologetically direct
I find myself in an undefined middleground  

I want to write about her
A tempest that springs up on an otherwise calm day
Demanding immediate attention
While I stand waiting on a silent shore

I walk a smudged black line
Hands out, exposed and uncertain
Palms tender and timid in their exploration  
As if to navigate a safe path forward

I want to write about her
The disquieting distance between us
A bruised space that beckons
For the company of two strangers

she sat, isolated and alone
river flows
wind blows
I walked on by
on a path
one glance back

the tree we've left up for you
is now dry
needles dropping
once full branches, drooping
unopened gifts languishing beneath
we'll figure something else out baby
we just need you to come home

it feels like the end of everything normal -
but spring breathes gorgeous green hope
and the familiar tap-tapping of the rain
wraps around me like an old forgotten blanket
that's been tucked away in my closet

i wake up
am i ready to greet this day?
not just yet

i try again
force tired body out of bed
a heaviness settles

water on boil
steam rises
while i wait

i languish over coffee
thoughts of returning to bed
drift above

no sun today
a chill in my kitchen
perhaps a walk later

how are you doing?

I find solace in the song of the birds
in the quiet hum of the refrigerator
in my breath as it flows in and out

I find solace in your arms as they hold me
and in the simple act of
dipping my spoon into half melted ice cream

I find solace in the thunder
and rain
and wind
and wildness of it all

And now, in the unknown.

this black rage
snaps me awake
surges
as my heartbeat quickens

i would relish the chance to shatter a dish
or all of them, really
an explosion of porcelain and dust
all over the kitchen floor

Words that I hear in my head
Words that I roll across my tongue
Words that I think about late into the evening

The worst anxiety takes hold - a panic.
Cold sweat and my fear mounts.
Breathing shallow and can’t quite reach that coveted FULL, DEEP breath.
(Where is it?)
I yawn to encourage it along.
Unsatisfying success until the next time.

That familiar foam
Spits
Tumbles
Bubbling up
Whooshes
When we were young
When I am old
Gritty feet
Salty nose
Bluest blue
But that’s not all
Some murky green too
Gulls overhead
Weeds down below
Watch for the flash
As the sun dips low

I try to capture you with my words
And my images
Your beginnings, middles and ends.
The shifting of your color palette
The wildness of your seasons.

I slowly turn the tap from hot to lukewarm
From lukewarm to just hovering above freezing
Enough to swiftly shove me back into the present
But not so forceful as to leave a bruise
Gooseflesh and a long sigh

This is week number six.

I wept into the wind
And the wind mocked my sadness
I wept into the ocean
And the salted water took in my tears
I wept into the soil
And new life sprung forward
I wept into your chest
And my tears dried.

Your worn, dry face with crow’s feet and the
Deepest lines etched in your forehead like a
Curved, carved segment of stone that was
Eroded by too much wind and sun without
Sunscreen when you should have
Smeared it on to protect your
Skin that’s now showing an age that
Doesn’t match mine.