Posts Tagged ‘liminality’

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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