some day

from the bed I can see the stars

it's quiet and cold down here

Pearl is not sure what to make of all this

and neither am I

relieved to have some space and some privacy

and at the same time it is sad and empty and it all echos

I will chose differently next time

the sink is too high

the drawers in the closet aren't quite deep enough

it wasn't ever intended to be a single room

so I am half of a whole in this room

i dream of a little yellow house

Safe      gentle      mine

some day the universe whispers     be patient

flashing airplane lights like firecrackers across the black sky

some day 

looking

hiding in a bathroom stall
just for a moment of privacy and space and quiet

my voice is shaky and the tears stream down my face
at the most mundane moments
terrible and honest and authentic
and devastating

i am trying to find a fix for this tightness in my throat
for the hard and sad that is camped in my chest

her work schedule means I sleep alone quite often
last night purposefully as she slept in the other room
I am not sure how to be in this world
I am not sure how to find a softer gentler place
so I shower and work and breathe and cry
and keep looking

distance

between what I feel and this hard reality
struggling to stay afloat and alive
above the rushing waves
it all washes over me again and again
some moments I am able to see the horizon
and others
only the water surrounding me

as I slowly unravel the story and find my own words
knocked down by knowing that her love does not transcend
that she is more than gone
I scramble to catch up  to breathe   to scoop up these pieces all around me
into a pile that makes sense   that can hold my weight

dinner

ten years ago my mom gave me a recipe book for Christmas
and she included my favorite things
her recipes for beef stroganoff and mayonnaise cake
and left plenty of spaces for me to fill in the book

I have packed and unpacked that book
moved through two states and two marriages
and added biscuits and lemon pie and cinnamon rolls
each time I see her handwriting on the cards
I hear her voice    I smell her cooking
I see her again
singing  humming  floating around the kitchen island
she adds tea to the spaghetti sauce to make it more brown
because my dad likes it that way
her hands can withstand the hottest water
and she makes the best pizza dough in the world

and tonight as I stand at my sink
cleaning up my latest beef stroganoff attempt
i miss that version of my mom
she was at the island washing dishes when I burst in from my first prom date
she was singing the sound of music when I came home from practice
she was there with dinner and questions about me and my day
she was strong and present and always working
on us     for us

this morning i stood in the guest bathroom as she showered
reminding her to wash her hair
and telling her what I remember
she would swim laps at the Jewish community center pool
her one piece speedo swimsuit   her swim cap   her goggles
she loved that pool and those laps
it was peaceful and quiet           her work for her
she laughs and says she doesn't like the water on her face

to find my way

there are dark narrow alleys
shadows
old hurts
and barriers
and bruises
all parts of me ache
as I trip through
knees scraped  palms raw

all those evenings
building my pathway
translating my feelings into a map
over and over again testing and recording
I still do not understand it all
I do not remember all the right steps     all the safe steps
and so I stumble and fall    over and over again

tonight I pause to catch my breath
to rest       to remember
I am scared of these side streets
and maybe that's the part I didn't write down

fear darkens my steps
I need to calm my pounding heart
breathe
trust that my palms will heal
trust that my heart knows the best way