Sliding Thoughts

new path

Starting this, I am walking down a new path
we once dreamed of this freedom
this chance to begin again.
To step outside ourselves
look down to where our feet touch the ground
keep them moving and remember the stories.
We whispered in our blanket forts and beneath the trees,
ice cream Sundays (and Mondays and Tuesdays)
and childhood dreams
If the photographs captured perfectly
the sight would be of every day,
when you look at me in this perfect way.

I stopped writing because it is so difficult to describe happiness with words. It just is. I will wander through an entire forest and the memory I am left with is just a snapshot of when we ran from mosquitos. I will climb a sand dune and am remembering standing on top of the world with you as I gasp from a lack of exercise and oxygen. I will walk through a city and I see brick walls with numbers on them. I will hold onto every quiet moment because that is where the foundation lives. I can’t remember not knowing you.

An Ode To Finals

I found this old post from December 10, 2003, and it made me smile, remembering the college days and how very horrible I was at test-taking (and apparently at writing odes). I don’t know why I put it in the drafts, because obviously it was published at some point, so I’m putting it back out there.

Accounting was atrocious
as it had the right to be
a horrible subject
it enjoyed torturing me
History was turned in
with absolutely no fuss
I quite enjoyed the class
I felt like such a genius
Management was tedious
but open-note tests do help
someone wanted me to sit with them
so they let out a yelp
All that is left is now Mathematics
statistics just kill me
probability gives me headaches
in this class there is no mercy
So wish me luck
my dear friends
as I study insanely
and pray for the end.

Warmth

I can almost feel the soft summer
there is a murmur, a promise in our words
we can plan and scheme and the whole world sees
but mostly it is just between you and me.

One day we will be wrapped in blue skies,
once in a blue moon we’ll be stepping
through cherry blossom trees.

I almost forgot to write it all down
I almost told them all before I told you
every secret in my heart,
I almost fell asleep wrapped in black velvet dreams.

Our hearts are dipped in fine fiery lines
in steady beats amidst the echoes,
the simplest thing at the perfect time.

haunted

She hasn’t heard your voice in years and years
the softly whispered tones
She had enough of the lovely tears
and every night alone.

She hasn’t slept with peaceful dreams
there has not been a moment’s rest
She struggled with the lonely schemes
and the multitude of tests.

Once she saw the shadowed skies
in blue and black and white
She saw the settled lies
in such a different light.

The Blues

I am only writing in my head.
The words stop at my lips,
stop at the line that separates
my tongue from the air of the world
and I stop.

come on
come on now
We’re sleeping on our feet
trust me, there is more than this!

I am writing everyone I know a letter.
Real paper, the kind that can cut you
and soothe as you hold the pieces in your hands.

If only the words would come
the right words that make you understand
(this love)

oh.

start. stop. stuttering.

my heart crashes into the pit of my stomach
I might forget for 5 minutes, or an hour, and then it all rushes back.

in circular thought I spin
in dreams we claw through mud as thick as limbo
as thick of the loss of hope
trapped inside my head
the words struggle to be heard
understood without meaning
oh the wasted years
the wasted tears
the forever dreams and joy…

Of tornadoes and silence

after the storm is this, the lingering headache and colors
I run through the thundering waters
the sky’s tears, the sky’s laughter
the steady beat tapping out
too soon subsiding in exhaustion.

wait, wait! In every tiny reflection, in every color
we wait, wait with every breath held back
my feverish pen halts, my feverish thoughts dim
hold hands up to the storm
fingers intertwined, in sudden silence.

(this is in the background…)

I saw the sky on fire through my kitchen window tonight, and grabbed my camera.  The wind had died to nothing, the world was silent, and the clouds were running away.  What beauty!

feel

in knots
the strings are slipping round
we passed by the dreaming trees
and the childhood things.

stepping down from palaces
in daylight the world is harsher
the words we say are the way it is
we’re in denial without basic sentences.

we waited by the sideline seats
ghosts of the irony
waited there, haunting me
we’re in silent motion here.

Still here

I am still here.
In silence with the water forming lakes around my boots,
with the golden red leaves forming islands around my feet.
I am…in a few places at once.

With tall buildings, cold people, fascinating streets
(that dream is farther away now, diminishing every week).

In warm sunshine where we bowed our heads
always, always among the cool stone and cypress trees
(I will never leave)

Among these people, this place, my home, the familiar roads
at first, breathless, dormant, unmoving
and now,
and now…
this is where I should be.

there is the not-quite ocean

It seems like there is almost a reaching toward
a not quite there feeling…
we’re staring off into the distance, hoping for an answer.

really, I was floating in this dream
a soft, sunny place that reflected my heart
and we drifted so far out that I lost my balance
and you lost your focus

A conversation between them is always starting with:
“Hello, you are my friend, I have always wanted to meet you.”
“I know, this is why we are here. To meet.”
“We can’t go very far if you always know what I think.”
“It doesn’t matter, knowing what you think just makes it better.

“Please, please sit down, you’re making me dizzy.”

(I leave in the morning for work-related travel. Maybe I will see new and inspiring things to bring back to all of you.)

sunsets always make me miss everyone

I wait in silence as they whisper
a thousand shouting voices drowning out
the sounds of every love they have ever known
I wait in heartbeats as they plunder
the only things of worth they have ever owned

And in my silence is acceptance
of the fiery ways that steer us on
In my dreams I see you standing
silent, true, tall and strong
There is no distance I can travel
that takes me further away from you

The words we wrote, the moments stilled
the tears I never cried
There is so much beauty in all of this
and yet we never tried

Can we keep a million secrets
of the times we never shared?
How can we sleep in peace forever
knowing that this is all we had?

This is for the never was,
and all it could have been
This is for the future children
and the moments born within
This is for every second
I never knew was real
This is for all the times I never told you
how it is I truly feel

the unknown

for in your eyes a thousand stars stared down at me
the world spun around the clouds in a perfect sky
with a perfect sea and you all around me

time slipped through, down and never existed
time waited, stopped, and counted
the breaths we took, the tears and smiles
the silent prayers, the laughter over coffee

the ocean, the paths, the stones
watched our meandering ways
with angels over our shoulders

every lost moment before
every lost moment since
tallied up in letters and thought
in the dreams of could have been

again we fall

This is not what I wanted
(words against the walls of my heart, burrowed under my skin)
I am trying and failing and trying…
I am strong until I come up against you

and I fail.

I fail to be silent in the right places

I fail to speak the right words.

I cannot reach the space where we are speaking the same language and can spend one day without this battle turning into a war.  There is no space for both of our words, and the pain we hold onto, and the

silence is better than anything.

My tears are all dried, my eyes heavy and the weight on my shoulders has added to itself, without even trying.  I speak in whispers so that the still moments are not broken and that maybe tonight we will sleep, even though we know that there are too many things left in the barricades between our minds and our hearts.

Mostly, I do not understand.

my only concession

Stars, you are unfortunate, I pity you,
Beautiful as you are, shining in your glory,
Who guide seafaring men through stress and peril
And have no recompense from gods or mortals,
Love you do not, nor do you know what love is.
Hours that are aeons urgently conducting
Your figures in a dance through the vast heaven,
What journey have you ended in this moment,
Since lingering in the arms of my beloved
I lost all memory of you and midnight.

-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

blueberries at sunset

I thought that those whispered words were enough,
that we could always eat blueberries at sunset
and our stories would sustain us.
you found me and lost me in moments
in between secrets and the alarm clock in the morning
maybe it was just not the right definition of perfect.

Today I smiled because of the cold air and because there is no reason not to smile. The snow still falls and everything still happens just like it should. I am still in love with the details of life and the grand plans of the universe and the way that a silk dress moves. I am this beautiful creation of power and movement and smallness and infinite everything (and so are all of you). My hands will hold children someday, my eyes will let down tears in the most heartbreaking way when I hear the right kind of music, my legs will carry me to distant lands, my mind will learn and teach, and my heart…oh, my heart will love and love and love (just like it always has).

I will and I am and there is something to be said for the silent moments at 3 am, something to be dreamt in the ways that right now holds meaning even if the stories are still being written, bound in books with glossy gold letters and the paper smell that good books are required by law to retain.

after

He wrote her a love letter
exactly three and one half pages long
handwriting slanted sideways, the pen rarely picked up
in the furious rush.

She decided that a certain percentage of these
expressions of undying love
are inherently selfish.

Words are said to relieve the burden
of these things rattling around in the head.
Every combination of terribly beautiful things
has been stated, analyzed, and…

The Storyteller

she said “it is so easy for you”
and I just shook my head but didn’t argue.
I’m the storyteller through poems
but can’t say the words out loud
I’m the dream-maker through glances
but can’t make a sound.

I am tracing outlines faster and faster
the pieces of conversations and glances
throw me to the ground.
there is the distant crashing sound
of the beginning of the most beguiling music
the curves of my hands and arms in the air
and now you know I will look over my shoulder
in the way we do when it is time to begin.

Writing the future before the present.

I can’t watch this happen again, when our feet have only just touched the clouds. Each book I write is a novel about the might never be, and one day in the future I wrote a book about every moment we had together. It was called “The Life That Always Was” and there was laughter on every third page. The chapters all started with major milestones in life, such as the time we met, the moments in the kitchen and taking walks on autumn afternoons, and the time that you stood beside me as we watched the world end around us (in a good way).

Each song that we danced to had a story, and some of the stories were painful, some joyful. All were worth telling, as the stories of families are always worth telling…even if only to ourselves.

So as the light of the stars came from the past, and we dreamed of the future…

I whispered “please come home” and there you were.

Who knew it was so simple?

(Currently listening to this song.)

The paths that words take.

She held her breath far longer than she meant to. There was order and a certain sense of peace, but the ground was shaky under her feet. Reaching out did no good…the branches tore at her dress and snagged her hair. In this case, a blue sky was no comfort, sunlight was harsh and glaring. The only thing to make it right was the cool evening wind, the kind to be lost in.

She learned to translate movement and expression into thought, broke through the noise of words…but lost the frantic tumble of syllables and sound that slide down ravines and tumble into your waiting hands.

Some words stay thick and others fall in rapid movements. There are ways to keep up. Words can hold our hands, walk right into our souls and set up shop.

Glances catch details, the little spoken or understood moments. Hems of long dresses touch a polished marble floor, stirring dust motes in the afternoon sun. A hand grips a telephone pole and twists around to gain balance, tightening. A plate shatters but only one piece does a graceful double-back flip. Only one snail ever crossed that path in that place, he is a snail celebrity in the snail world.

Her words are as powerful as the silence could be, if it was patient and waited for Sunday afternoons with tea and books by the fire. She has waited so long for those afternoons.

learning

I have discovered that my heart holds too much love, my mind holds too many memories, and my feet have not traveled enough roads. Too many of my secrets are no longer mine. There have been years of letting life happen, and moments of joy in between.

There are a few things I know to be true: my bare feet on marble and carpet, the scent of roses and jasmine, old stones and white-washed walls, the smiles of long-lost new friends, the pen in my hand, a child in my arms, serving tea in glass cups, sunlight, hands through hair, soft words of prayer, a purple sky with white clouds, honesty with you, and my sometimes healed, sometimes broken heart. I have invisible bruises and visible scars, and yet my words have become patience, detachment, and balance.

I always thought that the most peaceful moment would be to dance barefoot on deep green grass in a long summer dress. I could look up to the sky in any moment of doubt, and the universe would anchor me. There are too many stars out there, and too much beauty here, for God not to exist.