Briefly, you were taller than I,
tall enough that when we hugged
my head rested against your chest,
your body lean from growing
so fast. My body remembers
how new it felt when you
gathered me in long, slender arms
the way I had once cradled you.
It is not the same to be held
by your absence, no warmth,
no scent. Still, I let myself
be held by what is here—
no heartbeat but my own,
but oh, the love still growing.
Posts Tagged ‘love’
Mother and Son
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, grief, love, mother, son on June 5, 2024| 9 Comments »
Puhpowee
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged force, language, love, mushrooms, naming, words on June 4, 2024| 11 Comments »
—etymology from Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer
In Anishinaabe, there’s a word
for “the force which causes mushrooms
to push up from the earth overnight,”
and I wonder if it’s the same force
that changes the grapes into wine,
that turns an acquaintance into a beloved,
that gathers a handful of notes from a scale
and constellates them
into a tune that scores our lives.
What is the force that moves through us,
that charges the world with becoming?
As much as I love the naming of it,
I love, too, the mystery,
the unspeakable wonder of it,
how the brain is humbled into blathering,
I love the bumbling that happens when our logic
tries to explain the miracle, and the heart
becomes like a blonde morel
that rises up through rocks, through duff.
It says nothing, but oh, how it feels the force.
Walking the Boundary
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged border, boundary, love on June 3, 2024| 9 Comments »
is another kind of path.
I follow its edges,
one foot on each side,
straddling no and yes.
Can a boundary be traversed
like the border of a country,
proving how grave a line can be?
Do I know the value of a boundary
only after I’ve crossed it?
Where is love on this living map?
I watch for clues with every step.
Getting Close
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dance, grief, love, mother, photograph, son, suicide on May 28, 2024| 15 Comments »
In the photo he is dancing,
his arms a strong diagonal,
his tie flying forward
even as he comes to a still point
balanced for a moment
on the toes of his tap shoes,
his body a lightning bolt
in a crisp white shirt.
I focus on his face,
see the will it takes
to make his body stop in time,
see his easy smile,
the invitation in his eyes,
a blend of pride and play.
I lean in until his face is a blur,
as if by coming closer,
I might feel the breath
that isn’t there, breathe in
the warmth of his being.
I love entering
this photo sometimes,
or more rightly,
love the way this photo
enters me until
I ring with the truth
of how it is to love
this boy who did not
become a man,
this boy who chose
to make his body
stop in time,
this lightning bolt
captured on film,
unpredictable, powerful,
something no one
could hold forever,
this love that strikes me
every time I think of him,
I still feel it, the charge.
Love, Like Water
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, love, water on May 27, 2024| 8 Comments »
We could say the pain
was a block so great
it could not be moved.
We could say love
did not try to move it.
Love simply dissolved the mass
and surrounded it
the way water meets a block of salt,
breaking apart each ionic bond
until every atom of sodium and chloride
is surrounded by molecules of water.
And in this way,
and sooner than you’d think,
the pain was rearranged
into minuscule bits,
and there was no part of the pain
that was not touched by love.
The pain was no less, it’s true.
But mixed with love, dispersed,
the pain became something new.
Something vital that encouraged
a different kind of life,
a substance that supported buoyancy—
a medium to carry me.
The Choosing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged authenticity, connection, daughter, grief, happiness, intimacy, love, mother, vulnerability on May 25, 2024| 10 Comments »
Perhaps I no longer believe in happiness
as the goal. Not that I am against happiness,
but being in this very uncomfortable moment
with little light and a vicious chill, my arms wrapped
around my growing girl, both our hearts breaking
from sorrow and fear, both of us too well aware
of what can be lost, well, I would not trade this moment
for any wide-grinned hour of beach and sun,
wouldn’t rather be anywhere else with anyone—
I would choose again and again to be here
on the dark sidewalk with my girl in my arms,
our hearts so raw, the space between us so warm.
Coming Home the First Time after Our Son Died
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged compassion, connection, friendship, grief, help, loss, love, receiving on May 22, 2024| 20 Comments »
Someone had taken small rocks and shaped them
into a heart in the center of our drive
so when we arrived, we knew we were not alone.
At the front door, we stepped over
another small heart made of stones
filled with blue petals of larkspur,
golden petals of sunflowers,
the tiny red petals of geranium.
We walked into our home
to find wildflowers in a vase on the counter,
our fridge filled with fruit, soymilk and hummus,
the shelves lined with cans and boxes of tissues.
There were love letters tucked into every room.
The house itself was quiet,
too quiet without the boy who wasn’t there,
but it was not a lonely silence.
Those were the days when I learned
to say okay every time someone offered help.
Can I bring you lavender lotion? Okay.
Can I make you a meal? Okay.
Can I pick up your mail? Okay. Okay.
What a gift to be carried by others,
to learn by heart the sacred bond
between those who are broken
and those who offer their hands
to cradle the ones who are broken.
Years later, those same small stones
still grace our front porch,
though the shape of the heart
has been rearranged many times.
As has mine. I want to remember
how we need each other.
The petals I add never stay.
The love infused here has never gone away.
I Live for This Moment
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, love, microcosm, mother, mother's day on May 12, 2024| 8 Comments »
when my daughter stumbles
sleepy-eyed from her room
and no matter what I’m doing,
I stop and move to the corner
of the couch so she can settle
her whole weight on me.
Maybe we speak of dreams.
Maybe we converse with the cat.
Maybe we plan the day.
Maybe we say nothing at all.
All that matters is that
she is close and I nuzzle my face
into her hair and wrap an arm
around her chest and know
this is the beginning of everything,
the seed, the cosmic swirl,
the headline that’s never written.
To foster one moment of trust
and love is to belong
to a crucial revolution.
It matters, how we hold each other.
What happens everywhere
starts right here.
Legacy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, love, mom, mother's day on May 11, 2024| 10 Comments »
Far away my mother
reaches across the bed
for my father’s hand
that isn’t there. Still,
she says, she almost
feels it, just as I almost,
even now, feel her hand
rubbing the gentle pad
of her thumb across
my own thumbnail.
Perhaps someday
when I am gone,
my daughter, too,
will almost feel a whisper
of a kiss on her brow
that reminds her how
I kiss her tonight,
as always, with my lips
pressed to that place
just above her eyes
as I murmur that I love her.
Perhaps it will surprise
her how real it still feels,
the words no longer audible,
but I hope by then
she will know them by heart.
Two Days Before Mother’s Day I Visit Your Grave
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged artificial flowers, bereaved mother's day, fading, flowers, grave, grief, love on May 11, 2024| 6 Comments »
They are faded, the pink roses
made of fabric someone left
at your grave, and the leaves,
once green, are faint shades
of yellow, and I love them,
these petals that are so much more
than frayed polyester,
transformed as they are
into remembrance. Someone
else misses you, too.
Why does this move me so?
I, too, am fraying. Fading.
Being unmade. I do not mind
the undoing, the new way of being
less interested in perfection.
It’s what happens,
the price for choosing
to show up in all weather
to honor who we love.
I weep for a while beside
the granite with your name in it.
As always, you’re still with me
when I go.