Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
At 7 we swore,
“BFFs forever!”
But then 7, became 8… and 9
And 9 ate both 8 and 7
And new friends,
new BFFs emerged
But for little ones,
Being loyal
There could only be 1
Not realizing that even 1 is
Never alone (0, 1),
Is always a 2,
and 2 is far more
Than it seems…
The numbers we swore by
are symbols
Powerful illusions
To capture
Our Something Timeless
Priceless…
Of our very real
(Even “imaginary”) numbers
Of BFFs.
❤️ ♾️
I never meant to
Hurt you,
In doing me,
In being free,
I never considered all the pieces,
Laid out for you,
To see,
A half filled life,
With something missing,
Someone not beside me,
Not of their choosing,
In doing the necessary,
To get by,
These were never steps,
Toward saying goodbye,
This was never about you,
This was always just me,
Exercising
What it means to be
Free
In every waking moment
and coloring my dreams.
your human scent floods my senses
and widens my eyes.
You are found.
You are the question, and the answer.
The truth & the mystery.
you make my flight or fight response freeze —
Frozen, I await your warm body
to thaw my motions.
emotion running strong.
Passionate heat courses through my system.
Want, to need– for all of you;
I am yours in all I do.
We were meant to be
I feel it
Yet I hold in my heart
A fear I should have had 3 months into us
When I said
Yes.
I’m exhausted and terrified
Of this all being a lie
Of distortions and cons
That I’ve called life
I’m afraid that by drowning in love
I will do just that;
Drown,
And you won’t extend a hand to save me.
I want proof,
I want trust,
I want honesty,
I want all those things a love as home
Is meant to be.
They are unearthing babies,
Children
Who never had a chance,
Against a system we still don’t understand,
That takes and takes and takes,
My human heart hurts,
My sentient heart hurts,
My living heart hurts,
For a wrong far too late to correct,
And as the numbers tally up
Let us not lose sight of the numbers that are really lives,
Of the lives that were not lost
But taken
Stolen,
Genocide in and of our recent time,
And we haven’t learned our lesson,
As we hold stolen children,
This time immigrants in cages,
For being the wrong…
Color,
Creed,
Nationality,
Ethnicity,
Race,
An inconvenience to other plans,
Inconvenience in this land,
Stolen,
Stolen lands,
Stolen children,
Stolen lives
We traveled the roads
Traced the Appalachian to the end of the trail,
Found flat land in Ohio,
And wondered if we saw the edge of forever.
Turned back around to where my family is found
Pennsylvania:
forestry,
farmland,
mountains;
found,
The space I remembered,
With something missing.
Someone.
Felt the drop of my heart floor once more,
Knowing she is only partway here
Though her spirit everywhere,
And with him still
–Papa, in his recliner
Watching the great-grand kids play,
I brew and bring him Coffee
Cream, no sugar,
Little offerings,
Of thanks,
For everything that is,
Everything we are.
As I reach back in generations
I feel closeness to the Divine,
To the source,
Tears are all I have,
To praise and comfort
For we are live, and we are mortal.
As the morning broached;
Leaving,
The heaviness settles to the bottom of my heart,
I am smiling,
With tears in eyes,
Never knowing the finality of each time we part,
Knowing love,
And that must be enough.
She of Letters 