My pieces are scattered.
I am all over the place.
Emotionally. Practically.
Creatively stunted. Lost. This past week
all of the pieces of my life twisted and bruised and frayed. Overwhelmed, I was accused of
uncharacteristic behaviour, I was hurt, I was angered, felt strained and fell
into a few days of sickness that were lost to misery and sleep. It could have been I caught something on my
travels but if I know my body and my heart like I do, I am guessing I wore
down, broke down and succumbed to the struggles. It happens.
I know I am not alone there.
I am doing my best, my very best. I am trying to keep my chin up, muddle
through the worry and to honour what is asked of me and expected. It is a difficult task when you feel adrift
and you have no idea how to reach the shore.
Safely. Without capsizing.
I am feeling better today. I got outside, bought some stationary, bought
tea, bought trinkets for Halloween. It
helped. More than I can mention. I even wrote a sappy little poem while eating
tomato soup with crackers, listening to Matt Epp records. I thumbed through my worn dictionary, took
time to appreciate words and the solitude of it all. It felt good, like home, like healing. Sort of.
This was the result of spending time alone:
The Sequestered
‘what will survive of us is love’ – Philip Larkin
the moment you wake up
in the middle of the night
quietly hopeful talking in bed
a snare of soft supple syllables
you place your kiss on my face
charming and tender and civil
in the blue hour of morning
the moment you find sleep
your throat humming low
slowly alerting me awake
just an ordinary woman
just an ordinary gentleman
the sequestered
the harmonious
two
blending
imperfect is a passive paradise
when true romance is vanquished
**
In propinquity,
Nic
