Posts Tagged ‘in between spaces’

There is a room inside me—
a room the shape of love.
A room the shape of laughter.
A room the shape of tears.
It is furnished with softest blankets,
and there is country music playing,
and sometimes cello, and sometimes
the Canadian national anthem,
and sometimes it is quiet.
There is sweet tea and chai tea and
popcorn with butter and yeast and salt
and candles and bonsai trees that thrive.
We built this room together—
built it the same way we built sandcastles
on the beach in the Caribbean, the same way
we built tractors and front loaders
out of cardboard and straws and brads,
the same way we built an intimacy
out of breakfasts and trundling rocks
and looking for dinosaur bones.
Though you are gone, the room
is with me everywhere I am,
and I enter it whenever I need
to rest in the space of you here and not here:
here as I write this poem,
not here as I set the table,
here between holding on and letting go,
not here when I turn around,
here between heartache and healing,
here between forever and now.

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with thanks to Rebecca Mullen for showing me the doors

And if a door closes

before another opens,

well, sometimes in the hall

between those doors

I find the precarious beauty

that can only be met

when I am not quite safe,

not quite certain, not quite

a self, and yet wholly here.

I’m talking deep field beauty—

a liminal beauty that refuses

to be named.

This is what it’s like

to learn to trust—

to live with one arm forward,

one arm back and feel

marvelously stretched,

the heart perilously opened,

like a sunrise, like a wing.

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Between the morning and the noon,

between the never and the soon,

between invisible and seen,

between the waking and the dream

I’ll meet you there, amidst the mists,

and walk in different worlds at once—

both here and there, both then and now—

I’ll meet you in this space somehow

and there between confined and free

we’ll find what’s between you and me.

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It wasn’t the moon
that swooned me, but
the edge of the moon,
cratered and rough,
the shadow line
where substance ends
and space begins.
So much depends
upon a curve—
beyond that arc
no ground to stand
on, only dark.
The seam between
the dark and light
let me wander

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