I haven't added any furniture here lately. There are lots of reasons. Time and excuses--bottled and stacked. Waiting and lonely. Words left on my desk. In my notebook. On my chair or cheek. Words used for everything but speaking. For teaching, for comfort, for bustling about, for filling up time with the art of being busy. I am very good at being busy. Still I feel it--the constant push inside. You should write something that means something. You should put it somewhere. You shouldn't let your life move on so rapidly. You should not move on in this silence.
So, for poetry month, I am going to try to move some furniture in. Even if it is just an excuse taken down from the shelf and opened.
A note on love...
There are things about this that are harder than expected--
the silence of friendship
the right to no claim
the unspoken lie that we are nothing.
Your secrets sit heavy with me
a stone on my tongue
a stone in my throat
a stone in my belly
and the soft rubbed underside of my fingernails,
so carefully chewed back to the quick.
I watch you sometimes and always wonder about this pairing--
an unexpected meeting
an unexpected love
and the message that changed both, but still kept us moving
in the same direction toward the other.
I worry about you and this:
can I love you enough to brighten these shadows
or unache these scars
or mend the unmended parts of your heart;
Or will this secret stay silent,
a stone, unclaimed
and nothing more than the lie.
P.S. A note for Stephanie...I was once again, inspired by your posts. I always admire how brave you are. Thanks for writing, posting, being. You are beautiful.