Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
It’s good to feel small sometimes,
To look out into a vast space,
Especially in times of great change,
And to know you’re in someplace.

The whistle of searing wind,
Sweeping you off your feet,
Ripping and rustling through woods,
Floating plastic bags in the street.

Woozy from the whirl,
A kite in a tornado,
A minnow in a tsunami,
A blade in a meadow.

Splash in the puddle,
Play the game,
But don’t forget your rainboots,
You need something to claim.

Push your marshmallow in the fire,
Transform it into a torch,
Reach your hand to the embers,
Close enough to scorch.

Make sure you’re still there.
Clad in crisp capris,
A serious striped sweater.

Sunburnt skin scratched,
By blades of misty grass.

Two beasts barking,
Perched on the porch.

Marching through her meticulous meadow,
Mary welcomes morning in Maine.
Oh little bug in the sink,
You can’t swim,
You just crawl and explore,
You question, why am I in the sink?

I saw the bug in the sink,
As I brushed my teeth,
I noticed him scampering about,
Wondering — how do I get out of the sink?

You weren’t hurting me, bug in the sink,
You just wanted an escape,
Away from the dangers of the water,
A bad place to be if you can’t swim - bug in the sink.

But when I saw the bug in the sink,
I acted only on impulse,
The contrast between “*****” bug and “cleaning teeth”
Was too much to bare, as I stared in the sink.

And so without thinking of the bug in the sink,
My reflexes thrusted me forward,
I thought only of myself,
As I turned the **** on the sink.

Oh no — oh bug in the sink,
The water is gushing,
You’re overwhelmed, swept away, crushed.
Oh bug in the sink. Why did I not think?
It’s not a place as much as it is a space,
What’s the difference?
A wise woman once asked.

It feels as though “place” is too much concerned
With the physical features.
Places have trees, structures, water.
Places offer food, drink, dust collectors.

To call it a place would emphasize the gross matter,
The sand, the salty water, the dunes.
The people, propped atop their colorful towels,
The chips to be munched, the ball to be thrown.

Places contain activity, interactions, things.  
You leave the place with sandy toes, burnt skin, salty hair.

To describe the beach as a space, rather than a place,
Acknowledges the whispers rippling through the dunes,
The whispers of three generations that’ve been coming to this beach,
The ebb and flow of conflicting feelings,

One moment feeling as distant from them as possible,
The next, reminded that they, too, have sat on this same sand, swam in this same water.

A space permits the existence of a spirit,
That brought smiles to the beach-goers, still propped atop their towels,
A space permits smiles in the wake of tears,
A space allows for memories, experiences, nostalgia.

A space allows you to throw the ball,
And feel that he is still sitting on his big, sagging beach chair,
Squinting to see the arm on his littlest one.

A space allows you to trek to the water,
Remembering all the times you’d fetch him a pail of it,
Pour it on him to cool off.

You leave a space with reverence, gratitude, tranquility.

A place is devoid of him. 
 A space keeps him alive.
After bearing down with all the strength of Venus,
Clenching her jaw as she wrangled with loud cries,
Thoughts and memories of battle vanish,
Drifting away with each stroke of the new bundle.

Choking back tears as he kisses below her crown,
Her forehead speckled with manifestations of struggle,
Licking his lips he tastes maternal salt,
Reaching to clutch the delicate fruit of her labour.
Where we’ve got it all wrong,
Is that we grieve at the graves,
Spaces void of life and vibrancy,
We immerse ourselves in the loneliness.

We ought to grieve in the sunshine,

Allow the light to drive out the bitterness,
Be nourished by Earth in mind and soul,
Tussle in the prism of nature and beyond.

We ought to grieve in spaces teeming with being,
Gardens so rich and freeing that you know life doesn’t require seeing.
For in these spaces the clouds break and the rains fall gentle,
Where healing hills soothe the ache and it doesn’t feel as detrimental.
Next page