Saturday, December 11, 2010

scratching the itch

a calm drive
full of silent streets
and warm memories

soft blonde curls
my two-year old's maniacal grins and
uncontrolled giggles--
the huge hands of
my tickling husband

I keep driving
into my childhood neighborhood past
Christmas trees glowing though
living room windows

I park on the road near
the trails where
I used to run
and the bridge that overlooks
the gorge our small city has become
so famous for

under the street lamps
nestled in my long down coat
I savor this instant of comfort

I take
one great step
to tiptoe on the balance beam
before the lights of the town below me

all it takes is
a trusting collapse
to fall though the air

I gaze straight ahead
at the stars
a cold blast of air on my back
as I watch the snowflakes float
up into the sky


  1. Did you just write this? If so, are you okay?
    Do you have faith (even if it is blind) that these feelings are not real?

  2. PS - i mean not real in a philosophical sense. meaning, they can and do pass. i don't want it to seem like i'm minimizing your pain.

  3. Please don't do anything to harm yourself. You have so much to live for. Your little boy needs you. There is no balm for missing a mother's touch.

    You are not worthless. If nothing else your writing has a beautiful lyrical lilt to it, and your ability to convey emotion is nothing short of stunning.

    You need to write. If I were asked, I'd say you were born for it.

  4. I have discovered your blog a few days ago and could not stop reading. You write beautifully. I don't know you, but I am begging you not to harm yourself.