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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

4 comments:

  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?

    ReplyDelete
  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.

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  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.

    ReplyDelete
  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.

    ReplyDelete