Him

I love the silence

because that’s when I hear you

Big, luscious trees dancing in the light breeze. Newly bloomed violets poking out their noses. It is so beautiful today. The creek of a merry-go-round that is slowly reaching its rest after being spun around furiously for the past ten minutes. I sit and close my eyes and just allow myself to simply be. Paying unconscious attention the sounds of that spring dusk. The school children have all left and there is a quiet peace that lingers in the air, silence. The needing scream of an infant in the distance is all that I am able to hear. Eyes still closed, at one with myself and my surroundings, a tear runs down my face.

Confused by my own expression of emotion, I sit and ponder. Who would let a baby cry like that?

I find hand reaching for my empty abdomen, feeling the lack of gestation. Picturing an imaginary little embryo growing inside of a uterus. It looks so warm and cozy in there. Another tear then, a stab of sadness and regret, this painful longing for the one thing I do not possess. Memories of missed opportunities come rushing into my head. I  regret leaving those men; because then maybe, just maybe I would have you. The screaming is louder.

No, stop. Open your eyes.

A soft and delicate little face, full of destress. There you are, and you are still so beautiful. My maternal instincts take hold and I want to reach out and comfort, but suddenly you stop and look at me, with eyes so big and hazel nut brown. Emotions flood through my body and it is so overwhelming. I cry so hard because it hurts. I reach out for you, five tiny fingers wrap around my pinky and I sob. You’re right here and yet I know that you aren’t real. How I long to hold you in my arms, to show you this love that I carry for you. How I ache for you. 

The breeze has shifted, I should have brought a jacket. My face is so cold. Shivers run down my spine when I realise that you have left me; or is it the thought that you were never really here. 

Time to go home. I really need to stop crying in public.

I know I will see you again little one. I see you every night in my dreams. These day time visits are new, but if this is the only way that I get to have you then I don’t mind.

– wanted pregnancy

Sunday Service

Seated in a familiar spot 

The crowd is large this morning

Blood shot eyes, from the night before.

I look at you, up there.

The prior evenings’ arguments,

The quiet.

How you held me close to your heart as we shared tears.

I watch you, putting on your show

And my heart is full.

The pain of last night; 

oh, I love how you hurt me

I love how your mouth devours my tongue

The infinite touching,

Wishing your fingers would play across my body;

The way they glide across that keyboard.

When she didn’t cry

Footsteps. Pause.

The conversations among family.

She saunters in. Silence, then whispers

This moment that had been eluded for so long

They all examine and wait.

She smiles, waves and walks in.

They gaze upon her intensely,

Searching for weakness in her eyes, waiting for the shatter

But, to their dismay; nothing

She pecks her mother’s cheek, samples the wine and grins.

The room is nonplussed

They were anticipating despair —

After all, she is recently unattached

How can she be so merry?

Then again…

Part of her was always hidden

As my bodies sapphire beads roll ponderously down my now red and raw cheeks, i stare longingly into your deep shades of pink, white and red. i stare with the hope that my view will ease the pain and somehow return my peace. My stare turns into longing and my view is blurred by more tears. Tears that congeal as soon as they reach the sides of my eyes. These unyielding sapphires that tear their way through my ducts; and drag down my face like a lamb staggering through the mud during a storm. And yet, i stare.

Look at You, in all your beautiful glory, standing on desirable stems. Your beauty and pride taunts me, and yet i look to you for stabilty. A recurring symbol of romance, beauty and wealth; how You stand tall on sound stems pokes at my weakness. For here i am, with two legs of bones, but You stand prouder than i. While i caress my shoulders and attempt to mask my despair, You spread out Your large, luscious emarald flags and smile. Each one perfect and full of imperfections, revealing your ‘flaws’ ever so proud and unconcerned. Jagged edged and broad, each one of Your flags spread out with joy. Your absolute majesty intimidates me; and yet I continue to stare. 

I find my eyes distracted, forcing me to glimpse down for just a moment, and there they are, Your sardar crystals, your stunning blades of warning. Of course, one so delicate must practice self defence against those who would try to steal Your beauty. You notice my staring and we blush simultaneously. A deep pink resonates from your petals, forcing my gaze upwards once again; i stare. 

It is as if i am seeing You for the first time. Gazing upon Your pink and white heads, in all their blooming eminence; each looking up, honoured and breathtaking. They smile, but this time i look down; staring has caused more pain as i envy the view.

The pain stabs once more, as memories are transfixed through both my conscious and subconscious. It stings, as if i were grabbing Your stem to distract from the agony that pierces within. i am unworthy to behold Your majesty.

As I howl in anguish I hear You say, “my dear, its okay to break a little. Let us see the roses bloom from inside You”… I giggle as I listen to you quote H M Dayal. I look up, my sapphires still dripping down my face. You smile and I smile back.

-Roses

Here we go…

One of the boys…

I suppose, to an extent I always have been. A part of my identity, defined in four simple words. Always tough and seemingly emotionless. I wish every other part of my life were that simple. Sitting at my dining room table, marking Grade 9 transactional writing and yet I stopped to take the time to write this… Why?..

I guess that I thought it would give me a some what different sense of being productive; in its own funny way. Too busy for anything in life, and yet she has time to type out a seemingly pointless post. Oh well, here I am, doing it anyway.

Being an english teacher, and an obsessive perfectionist, I guess that I felt a need to create an introduction to it all; create a sense of structure if you will.

what a joke…

Iv’e been writing for years as a way to escape the demons in my head, give them a place to go to and leave my thoughts for a while. Ensuring that my feelings are never seen by the outside world as they lie in between the pages of my many journals. I have come to find that this ridiculous ritual that I practice each night is longer keeping them at bay; and I figure it is because no one ever sees the sadness that lives on those papers.

So here I am… and well…

Here we go…