approval isn’t a prize; it’s capture
Feelings are
risk coupons
of lurking megawatts
ready to charge
at a moment’s notice;
holding their ground.
Grief is ache,
a witness to the temporary;
knowing that it mattered.
Enter whakawātea,
calling to create space
for feelings to begin their journey,
for room to allow
the risk
of a new beginning.
As paths diverge,
I look around
at the parts of me,
refused
ignored
disregarded
scattered about,
and begin
to gather them
one by one:
care
hope
effort
understanding,
and weave them into
a blanket of renewal
I accepted the invitation
from the one
who disrespected me
a lifetime ago;
that young girl
remembered,
watched
quietly,
waiting for the apology
that never came,
only more disregard,
and I wondered
why
I was there.
I thought I brought kindness,
but gave access instead.
I remembered the sweetness,
ignored the behavior
the rejection,
then finally understood
the lesson
with perfect clarity:
access and kindness
are separate things.
Grampas lake
shrouded in mist
cool damp
invisible
motionless kayak
no sight
no sound
silent milky perfection
imperceptible something
distant tap
quiet thwap
less quiet thwap thwap
quiet loud it comes
thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap
pushed from the mist
a single mallard
here
gone
When beats pound rhythm,
I tap tiny covert steps
as eyebrows raise
in public;
alone,
music owns
my dancing strings.
There was a woman
who saw the world
as unprotected,
she
sensed people’s pain,
and gifted them
the quiet place
they deserved.
She understood
some hearts
need space,
so, she would
be,
stitching a length of days,
watching silent moments
pass.
She let
the breezes drift;
let
the sunshine warm,
and let
the rain cleanse
only
what was ready
to be washed away.
Stitching a length of days,
watching silent moments
pass;
she would stitch a world,
a quiet place,
a space for hearts to be.
I strain to see,
how my feet will land –
on solid ground, wave, or zephyr.
One person
who is two,
the outside / the inside,
one is
guarded to defend,
the other
hidden to protect.
From the outside looking in,
camouflaged smile,
practiced handshake,
pleasantly interactive,
affable but aloof
woman;
from the inside looking out,
observing, detecting, data collecting, analyzing survivor.
I shared my troubles with a woman
who lead me to
a shy little child
hidden
inside me.
I thought, ‘this is crackers,’
but played along.
Turns out, the girl was there,
hiding
all along.
I tried to run
from her,
from myself,
but in the end
I had
to protector her.
Laughter pealed from me
unintentionally escaping,
while observing
a mundane exchange,
shot into space
without warning.
It burst from me
unbounded,
with irrational duration,
and returned for a second encore,
then a third.
I lost her
my friend
my baby
my solitude mate.
Her aloofness was a perfect fit
for mine.
following me everywhere,
keeping her separate self;
her thoughts were her own,
unless there was food,
then gladly, she’d join in.
Never sought company;
kept to herself,
she was kind that way.
Because, illusion
was all there was,
painted over empty rooms
that feigned promises
of a life
inside.
Because, illusion
was all there could be,
in a world
that had no
inside.
It’s just a story
It’s not who I am
It used to the have power
to make me believe
that story was who I am.
But I have forgiven
And grieved
And let go
And now I begin with just me,
before the story sidetracked me,
and who I was meant to be
all along
silence
is space,
for breathing,
for calm,
for reflection.
It’s absence is cluttered with noise
that distracts from knowing
what lies beneath,
and drains the spirit.
silence
is time,
is being,
is renewal.
I am my own 