Hello Dear Readers, 🩵
The three poems below reminded me of the back and forth of divorce; feeling powerful and free one day, then devastated and hurt in the next.
Significant dates shift in our hearts as their meaning fades with time. Beauty appears in new places.
Nearly a year out from writing these poems, I am amazed by the power of the human spirit. I am grateful for what time, friendship, love, taking care of myself, and being taken care of, has done.
Love,
Shiny ✨
Poem Written on the Patio June 7
When you left,
you took parts of the patio
we had so meticulously assembled,
except for some flower pots;
it was November, anyway,
and the flowers had all died.
Since then, I have rebuilt a little oasis
on this piece of concrete,
and it’s really something.
With you or without you,
I can make things beautiful.
I can manifest dreams.
I can make things new,
even though all you left out here
were some empty pots and dirt.
It turns out, I didn’t need much.
I made this place beautiful again.
This time, though,
it was only for me.
Anniversary **** On this, our tenth anniversary, I am remembering the gut-punch questions the various lawyers asked. What are your names? When is your birthday? Do you have any children? Just the dog? Where were you married? No, specifically the place. You can request this piece of paper anytime after your anniversary has passed, probably without incident. By then, it won’t hurt so much. It will be almost meaningless. Just another day. A day that could have been celebrated, one that signaled some kind of new chapter. A big step. And now, though not quite in the way we imagined, it does. Reminders June 11 There are a thousand things a day that remind me of you, even the way you used to change the little head of my toothbrush, or pour peroxide on my finger when I would misuse a knife. People are always talking about how marriage is so hard, and it is, but there are so many conveniences to it. There is somebody else there, somebody in the winter to huddle by, somebody to laugh at things with, somebody to share a vacation, or maybe just a piece of cake. Sure, it comes with other things: baggage, struggle — but humans are wired for connection. It doesn’t matter that our ties have been severed, or will be, legally, soon. You still live in my thoughts, your voice plays in my head, your presence like a ghost in this, our bed, my bed, I mean, now. Some days, it’s all okay. Other days, it seems it never will be.