to the heavens

i woke up to blue skies

and noticed how gently everything moved

as the pine trees swayed

out on the horizon.

my tea is black

rich and strong

i try to sip it slowly

the mug is hot

against my lips

i do not remember

if yesterday was the same

or if the day before

was any different

now, i’m not sure

if it even matters

today the sky is blue

tomorrow it might be

dark gray all the way to the horizon

and when the gray

stretches on and on without

any definition

i’ll remind myself it doesn’t matter

and that tomorrow

it might be deep cerulean

endless from the earth

to the heavens

 

a word

When I was a child, I copied
the way you moved
and I would ask,
What should I call you?

I tried to find
a word I hadn’t
learned yet,

a word beyond
what a child could understand.
It was something unfamiliar,

Now, as an adult, I still
find myself asking,
What should I call you?

There are no gestures now.
I don’t understand
That’s what it means to grow older.

This is a shadow,
and this, too,
is part of life.

the lilac tree

the lilac tree

is ready once more

with blossoms almost here

about to bloom

and last year’s buds

are now just reminders

turned inward on themselves

this is how nature

teaches us to move on

shows us that

we have to accept

with time

we also need to let go

in time

of every season

and their memories

only a lilac tree

could

show us this

with such bold defiance

with such gentle grace

There

i ended up there,

close enough

to reach out

but not quite

always just out of reach

trying to understand what kept pulling at me

during the late hours

in the stillness

but that feeling of being so close

felt like pressing my hands

against a pane of glass

unable to break through

unable to really live

only able to see the

almost that was just beyond

fly straight

Today I learned what geese talk about
when they fly,
when they leave for the winter.
I said,
“No, it can’t be,
They look like they have everything,
They really seem to have it all
all figured out.”
from the ground,
gazing up,
up, up, up,
Their direction looks so certain,
Their flight seems so pure,
as if they live with a real purpose.
But now I think I understand what they say
when they are migrating,
when they are flying away.
They are not talking about the view.
They are not talking about the endless horizon, either.
They do not talk about a life of freedom.
Instead, this is what they say:
“I need to keep moving,
If I stop, I will start to think!”
“Will I be attractive
When I get older?”
“I think I’m lovable,
but maybe I’m not.”
“Am I necessary to this company
Or just kidding myself?”
“I pushed away another beautiful soul
and I made it look like their choice.”
I stood there on the ground,
barefoot,
with grass between my toes,
looking up,
feeling surprised and amazed
as they sang their songs overhead.
How could that happen?
But part of me already knew
and part of me understood
Those golden arrows you see can only fly straight
for just so long.

brambles and thorns

The raspberry tasted of youth.
‘How simple
this is,’
I thought, as I waited for
the coffee to brew.
It is raining today,
a cold rain,
a December rain.
It is only a few weeks away
from the solstice.
The days move so swiftly,
rushing after something I can’t quite see.
As I stood watching the rain
and eating the raspberries
that tasted of youth,
I tried to understand
how time keeps moving;
how this day seems to rush by
toward something I can’t see.
It was never like this
in my youth;
Time used to move gently.
I’d stand amongst the raspberries,
free from care,
just careful not to get pricked by the tiny thorns,
and eat, and eat, and eat.
I began to understand,
pulling myself out of my thoughts
and pouring my coffee,
that the raspberry patch was
my kingdom,
I felt safe there
tucked hidden in the thick brambles and thorns.
the world outside
was full of turmoil;
there was a man out there who was so fierce
that a few scratches
from the inside of my kingdom,
my sanctuary,
paled in comparison
to his anger.

getting older

I once had words that sounded beautiful.
I think I wanted
to make this sound nicer,
to make my thoughts
feel richer and stronger.
But this isn’t something
that really needs it,
even though it often comes to mind.
Now it’s midday
and I feel like taking a nap.
My eyes
are watering because I’m tired,
and my head starts to nod
Part of me says
that I should rest.
But I’m still here
thinking about getting older
about time,
and everything that’s happened since we
last met,
about the gray hairs
you have now
and my own baldness.
I think about wrinkles.
Mine come from life, from
living hard,
from all the trials I’ve faced.
And yours come from living
just living, the kind that feels boring,
growing older without learning much.
You see,
your corner office
has drained you.
The shell was still there
but the life you chose took something from you.
The love you talked about
wasn’t really love,
it didn’t give you what you needed
the way real love would.
The hands that would have
held yours through every hard time
are rough now with age,
and now they’re holding
someone else’s hands.
I’ll rest soon.
These thoughts come to me often,
usually right before I nap,
when my mind and heart
are tired and
start to think about getting older,
about time, and about the life
that I once wanted to share with you.