tonight...

tonight, i spent hours looking through etsy shops for christmas presents. there are so many wonderful things to be found. and, suddenly i found a shop with these delightful polymer clay pendants and pins and such...and there it was. the perfect christmas gift for you. a hummingbird. i almost clicked to add it to my shopping cart. but, then i remembered. you are gone. and the sucker-punching wave of grief crashed onto me. this is how it works. i forget for just a second. because most of the time i really really remember. but sometimes, i will forget for just this one little moment and it will seem like you are here and that i might just call you tomorrow to tell you all about my day and hear about the birds at your feeder and how grandpa drives you just a bit crazy and how you are looking forward to seeing my mom for thanksgiving and how you plan to send me money to buy the ornaments this year because you are too tired to go out of the house. and you will laugh when i tell you that i actually cooked dinner tonight because you always ask me what i plan to make my husband and i usually sputter some answer about how he cooks or that we plan to get sushi again. but this time i will be able to say that i actually made stew and we sat at the table and drank wine and talked. and then we can talk about how i am planning on buying only handmade christmas gifts this year and that i found the perfect one for you, but you will have to wait until next month to see what it is. and then you will say that it has been so long since you have seen me at christmas and that you are wondering if jon and i might think about coming to see you and gramps. and then i will say that would be really wonderful and we can have a quiet christmas just the four of us. and it will be just like when we went to myrtle beach and it was like two couples on vacation together. and i remember sitting on the balcony next to you while you did the crossword and i was looking out at the ocean thinking about how lucky i am because how many girls are there in the world who have been married for a few months and take their new husband on a vacation with their grandparents who have been married for 57 years and yet have the best time together. and i remember turning and looking at you and smiling. and now, as i sit here in this quiet house with candles burning and rain pushing against the roof, i can see you in my mind and because i am listening so closely to the voice that lives in my heart i hear your laughter and your words and i know. i know. i know...but i guess i also just need you to know how much i miss you and i miss the idea of you and all that could have been and all that was. so i am going to sit here for a little while and just pretend that you are still here and that i am going to call in the morning as i put the tea kettle on and then, as i begin to spread peanut butter on my toast, i will hear you say that you are hoping we might come for christmas this year. and i will be surprised because you seldom ask for anything but i will say yes, i think that is a wonderful idea, and when i hang up the phone i will smile widely because i know i will see you in a few short weeks…i am just going to sit here for a few minutes and pretend.

peaches, poetry, and escaping to the air conditioning

We have escaped to the air-conditioned Mandolin Café to beat the heat. Our house, since the neighbors cut down the beloved tree that shaded our home, is warmer than warm. It's the kind of hot where all you want to do is just get naked and stretch out on your bed with the fan blowing right on you.

The bartender here is singing a song about how "if you don't have an air conditioner you're not the man for me." Oh yes. How I love that. It is pretty funny. I love our neighborhood café where you can be working away on your laptop and then suddenly the bartender starts singing a cappella (microphone and all, of course).

We are consuming ginger peach tea to cool off. I thought Washington peaches were in season, so we went to our favorite grocery store to get a few, but it turns out that the special Frog Hollow peaches are not yet in season. I was craving them a tiny bit. I had to settle for two huge not-yet-ripe California peaches and the anticipation.

I had a moment earlier today that reminded me about the peaches this time of year. I want to turn this moment into a poem, but right now, I just have some thoughts and words put together…poem notes I suppose.

***

I kept the phone messages for months. The call from your daughter, Don't panic, but she's in the hospital. Your husband, She's doing better. It's gonna be okay. I listened to them daily for weeks. She was alive. I didn't mean to lose them. But one week I just forgot to hit 2 to keep them for 14 more days. Today, I opened the freezer and paused soaking in the cold, wishing I could escape the surprising northwest humidity. I noticed the peaches July 2004, Frog Hollow propped in the door shelf. That first year we lived here; I wanted to be able eat them in December, so you explained, Quickly drop them in boiling water. Take them out and peel. Slice and put them in a mixture of sugar and that stuff you can buy to stop them from turning brown. Yes, yes. You will find it at your store. The aisle where you get the Sure-Gel. You will find it. Follow the directions on the box. Then, pour them right into Ziplocs.

I realized I had not really thought about you for a few days. The thoughts to call you and then the remembering, it doesn't happen as often. I am forgetting. Time is subtle and pushes me forward without you. This makes my heart ache tonight. It hasn't hurt for months, but I want to dial, hear your voice, and ask you how to freeze the raspberries. Yes, yes, I know how. But, I just want to call all the same.

I do what I have to do to keep breathing. Three years and two power outages is too long to live in the freezer. She was alive. I do what I need to do to wade through it.

***

visit poetry thursday to dive into more poetry

a day in april {poetry thursday}

this was not the poem i intended to share today. on this day, of all days. another year has passed.

but this is the poem that came out of me after sitting with some feelings for the last day. this is, in many ways, all of who i am today.

I cannot apologize

I imagine you
scared of her hand
her scissor-like words
her black truth
I imagine the little you
in a corner
willing yourself
into a quiet ball
of little breath

If the person I am
the one who might not want a baby
but is open to the whisper
that a child might be alive
today
and need a home
if the person I am now
knew
that ball
of endless fear
I would shift the world
to bring you here

To bring you
to a room with yellow walls
and endless shoes
and corners filled with pillows
I would bring you
to safe joy
and a circus of laughter
as we jump on the bed
I would teach you
all she taught me
with her gentle hand
quiet knowledge
and world of color

the gifts

i believe that creating heals
paint across canvas
fabric stitched together
charcoal to paper
words to a screen
all of it
with each moment spent creating, brainstorming, writing, the heart fills with beauty, joy, truth...and as it fills, the heart cracks heal a bit.

this is the unexpected gift spring now gives me. tonight, as i think about the anniversary of my grandmother's death next week, i am once again grateful for the gift that a community of like-minded, open-minded, incredible, hilarious, gorgeous people gave me at artfest. this gift that is healing. and as i spent time in that community of people and pushed myself to connect, i found myself remembering my way back to the beauty of healing. remembering my way back to laughter. and, i also remembered my way back to words and the power of words and connection.

as i sit here sleepy-eyed in my little room tonight, i can hear the kind words of so many women. encouragement. affection. truth. teasing. honesty. i can hear the echo of their laughter inside my head.

i am grateful for the many gifts i received while in port townsend. from others, from myself, from the world around me.

thank you.

breathing into growth (poetry thursday)

Yesterday was my grandmother's birthday. She would have been 84 or maybe it's 85 now. Her grandmother lived to be 102 so I was hoping for more time...

When Dana and I were sitting in a Starbucks in Seattle this weekend, I was telling her that I can't seem to write many poems about anything other than my grandmother. I guess in her death she has become my muse. I will take a nod from Sharon Olds though and will just keep going with it. Writing the words as they come.

As I mentioned here, I am trying to work with shorter poems. To strip it all away to get to the guts of what I want to say. Yesterday, as the sun peeked through the rainy clouds, I found my way to this poem...

On this day
when the sun slips through the gray
and I hear the tulips push upward,
I know this:
Though I ache to lay my hand in yours
and walk around your yard
listening
as you name each stretching green shoot,
you are happier dancing in the wind
whispering
grow, grow

********

If you haven't already, please visit Poetry Thursday and read this week's columns (and the particpants' Poetry Thursday posts too). Marilyn's words yesterday had me standing up in my little room and cheering out loud! I love poetry.