poetry ~ prose ~ reflections ~ dreaming
With each careful footstep
pine needles
the forgotten colours
of a forgotten autumn
softening the sound
she counted
until stars
came out
to greet her
and the moon
to bless her
only then
did she let herself
rest
only then
did she let herself
believe
They fell in love
Later
they would wonder
if they had ever known the other
if they had merely fallen in love
with themselves
Even later
they would struggle
to remember
the other
themselves
the places their heart
meticulously mapped out
but deep in their hearts
was a solid line
with tributaries
like a river
when the moon was full
and the night was warm
and still
they would float on the surface
gliding on water like glass
and let themselves remember
The cup of tea
is warm
in my trembling hands
If I look past you
to the ticking clock
on another beige wall
I can slow
my breathing
and I can survive
another day
of waiting
for the sun
and the song
of summer
birds
I have
no voice
lost it, perhaps
or merely
forgotten it
This sickness
has changed me
is changing me
turning me
inside out
No
not like a hurricane
or a quick
tornado
More like
a piece of laundry
left out on the line
in a thunderstorm,
twisted out of shape
In the complicated
process
of freeing myself
I have forgotten
my song
forgotten
to sing
I am still
hanging limply
on the line
practicing
sounds
whispering
words
looking
for my voice
in the midst
of the loud
shrieking
of this illness
And I wonder
if
learning to listen
comes first
I falter
a lot
Today
I have been
asking questions
Lots of why questions
Some when questions
Lots and lots
of what now questions
And then I felt myself falter
Yet again
I think sometimes
something
as innocent
as a warm breath
can cause a loss
of balance
Yes
But also
a missed
Heartbeat
And so I falter
and catch myself
without waiting
for that warm breath
or a reason
for my heart to beat
Today
I am a lover
of me.
