Butterfly Cauldron
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Decatur Street
If my grief were a tangible thing,
it would be a throbbing red ball
pulled from the deepest pit of my stomach.
Heavy and aching, but slowly, constantly,
in that way you can grow
accustomed to.
I could hold it like a pet,
stroking it in attempt to soothe it.
I like to deal with pain pre-emptively.
That's what I tell myself.
As if that were possible.
As if you can imagine, in advance,
the pain you will feel when your foundation
disappears.
As if you could imagine the hurt
of watching your sun fly away,
not being certain when or where
it will shine again.
Pieces of paper.
Fragile, stupid,
can-get-lost-in-the-mail
or
stolen-from-the-mailbox
pieces of paper.
Paper with government seals of admission
or rejection
or we-want-more-information-so-you'll-just-have-to-keep-waiting.
I despise them, even as I wait for them,
stake out the black box at the end
of my driveway and wait.
Just wait.
I'm tired of leaving.
Tired of brave faces at airports
and I-can't-cry-yet-wait-until-I'm-in-the-car.
I'm tired of worry.
Tired of no knowing when she'll be back
and if I can finally keep her.
If my grief were a tangible thing,
it would be a throbbing red ball
pulled from the deepest pit of my stomach.
Heavy and aching, but slowly, constantly,
in that way you can grow
accustomed to.
I could hold it like a pet,
stroking it in attempt to soothe it.
I like to deal with pain pre-emptively.
That's what I tell myself.
As if that were possible.
As if you can imagine, in advance,
the pain you will feel when your foundation
disappears.
As if you could imagine the hurt
of watching your sun fly away,
not being certain when or where
it will shine again.
Pieces of paper.
Fragile, stupid,
can-get-lost-in-the-mail
or
stolen-from-the-mailbox
pieces of paper.
Paper with government seals of admission
or rejection
or we-want-more-information-so-you'll-just-have-to-keep-waiting.
I despise them, even as I wait for them,
stake out the black box at the end
of my driveway and wait.
Just wait.
I'm tired of leaving.
Tired of brave faces at airports
and I-can't-cry-yet-wait-until-I'm-in-the-car.
I'm tired of worry.
Tired of no knowing when she'll be back
and if I can finally keep her.
Labels: poetry
4 Comments:
(((hugs)))
I thought I was there, with her in NYC and me in Orlando, but I can't imagine dealing with the distance you do.
*hug*
Dear heart, my hope is that you won't have to be separated from your partner for long. I'm looking forward to the day when we can all hang out and eat cheesecake and rail against "The Man" 'til the wee hours of the night, without worrying about some invisible hourglass counting down the moments to another separation.
(((Zansies))))
My love and prayers to you...
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