Perspective

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I got up this morning go through my usual routine while not-so-silently bitching about this 1-3 inches of snow and rain coming down on what is, by the calendar, the third day of spring. After the winter we’ve had like most everyone else my sense of NYC stoic is shot to shit and I’m just done with any kind of snow. Do I wear my boots or tough it out in my sneakers? What if it is not raining that hard? I don’t want to be standing around all day in boots, yada, yada, yada… I make a decision and head out. It’s dark, it’s dank and just miserable looking outside.

Ter-fucking-rific.

Now the path from my home to the train station leads past several tenement buildings and projects.  A part of City life in my current neighborhood is the occasional appearance of memorials for the recently departed. I’m ashamed to say, they are so much so a part of the scenery that while I see them, I really don’t.  At least, until this morning.

This morning as I pass, I actually noticed the memorial, this was somehow different and as I looked closer, I understood why. The large portrait was that of a baby. This life could not have been more than a couple of months if I am gauging this infant correctly.  Someone lost a baby. Do we  even want to go into all the reasons why the younger a life is when it departs from us, the more tragic it seems? No.  It just is. Suddenly today’s annoying rain/snow crap in spring was considerably less so and posted such in my Facebook status.

Just after I share, I noticed one of my friends posted the query “what happens when you’ve been there, done that?”  I get the joke of it, I do and I “liked” one of cutesy responses, still…  I think of my sons, my friends, others and myself. We spend so much time a’bitchin’ and a’moanin’ about the things we can’t do, we want to do, we have yet to do. We wrap ourselves around the dreams of the next big adventure we often barely appreciate the act of the things we have done once they become memory.  All the things we’ve already done even the truly regrettable ones, we got to do them. So right now, right now, I keep thinking about this newest angel looking down upon us who didn’t get to do anything but brighten someone’s life for the briefest moment and think…

“what happens when you’ve been there, done that?” …

…Be grateful.

Let The Morning Find Me…

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HAPPY 2012!
With the brand new year upon us, may this be one resolution we all can keep.

Let the morning find me…

…languishing
from a sleep that was enough to feel well-rested, but not lethargic, energized, but not anxious

Let the morning find me…

…knowing
even if the best possible sometimes fails, that the person I find in the mirror has done the best possible.

Let the morning find me…

…living
and not just merely surviving, but joyously thriving, even in the midst of the crazies.

Let the morning find me…

…enticed
to start this day even if the most strenuous thing I have planned to do is vegetate.

Let the morning find me…

…satiated
in that toe curling, back arching, arms and fingers extending to their maximum reach full body stretch way, regardless if there’s someone beside me.

Let the morning find me…

…smiling
that Cheshire cat, absolutely no reason what so ever, but I just can’t seem to stop smile.

Let the morning find me…

…loving

me.

–== == == == == ==–
Submitted to
Jingle Poetry At The Gooseberry Garden — Week 20
Fairytales, My First Time, Hope, and New Year’s Resolutions

And Back On The Horse…?

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Okay.

I’m a forty-seven year old widow of five years. I took time to mourn, then I took time to ingloriously fuck. I’ve now cut myself off from all of my “friends with benefits” because. Well, because I don’t see the benefit in it anymore. Until last month, in a moment that will be chalked up to the ah, ah-ah-ah, ah-alcohol (gee thanks Jaime Foxx-NOT!), I’ve been celibate by choice.

I’m looking in the mirror, frustrated, but at least no longer regretting my actions. No, regret is not quite the right word. I do not regret anything that I have done sexually. I’m tired of feeling that something so completely missing once the moaning is done. I know something’s missing, but I can no longer reconcile filling the physical need without somehow figuring out how to fill the emotional one. So I rather just leave it, and them, totally alone. I realize, I’m likely setting myself up for another ah, ah-ah-ah, ah-alcohol moment some time from now, if nothing good happens, but to get a new FWB? No, something in me simply cannot do that any more.

I’m tired of not being satisfied, emotionally. I’m tired of lying that all I wanted was a fuck buddy. The whole thing with NH was ridiculous. Have to break-up with BX was simply too easy for me and too hard for him. He’s a nice guy and all, but I did not and know I will not love him. I couldn’t let it keep going – it only would have gotten worse if I let it drag out. Having now lived on both sides of Unrequited Love Street, I can tell you it really, really sucks either way.

I do not want to be alone anymore. NH (primo conceited ass that he was) did prove the point. I enjoyed him, but yeah – no, the one-on-one of being with that someone special, just wasn’t there and the lack of such hits home. I want to be loved. There! You hear that Universe? I’ve said it.

So… What now?

Mousetrap…

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A few words of wisdom this very wet (for me) Friday morning. This was given to me by a friend. I admit it’s on the cutesy side, but the overall end message is worth it.

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package. “What food might this contain?” the mouse wondered – he was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning:
“There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”

The Chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, “Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it.”

The mouse turned to the pig and told him, “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”

The pig sympathized, but said, “I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers.”

The mouse turned to the cow and said “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!”

The cow said, “Wow, Mr. Mouse. I’m sorry for you, but it’s no skin off my nose.”

So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer’s mousetrap alone.

That very night a sound was heard throughout the house – like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey.

The farmer’s wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught.

The snake bit the farmer’s wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital, and she returned home with a fever. Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup’s main ingredient.

But his wife’s sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig.

The farmer’s wife did not get well; she died. So many people came for her funeral; the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them.

The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness.

So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn’t concern you, remember – when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk.

We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage one another.

REMEMBER:

EACH OF US IS A VITAL THREAD IN ANOTHER PERSON’S TAPESTRY;
OUR LIVES ARE WOVEN TOGETHER FOR A REASON.

Black Man (a Valentine to the Brothers)

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Carrying the past on his spine, but his back in not bowed

You’ve passed him on the streets. You’ve seen him in offices, in schools, in stores. In anyplace and everyplace. There’s something about him-his presence. It’s always been there, but now its something new-fresh-different. The way he occupies your time, your mind, and maybe even your heart. He is all of many, yet one of few. Who is he?

He is Black Man.

Black Man comes in many shapes, many sizes, many colors. He may be a part of the new generation of tomorrow or the old generation of yesterday. He was there at the beginning. He will be there at the end. Be he leader or follower, sinner or saint, Black Man is there.

His skin may be ebony or damn near ivory. His eyes gray or black or any where in between. He may be large in size, but never in ignorance. He may be small in stature, but never in spirit.

His pride is as tall as the redwood. His honor as solid as the oak. His soul as deep as the dark earth his pride grows in and his honor firmly stands upon. His strength inner or outer is as mighty as any hero, fact or fiction. His passions can be as explosive as the erupting volcano, or as quiet as the rising dawn. He may be put down, but as many have learned; Black Man can not be put out.

Black Man has loved-hated, been loved-been hated.
Most of all Black Man has lived, he has endured, he has survived.
He has proven his self worth.

How do I know this? I have been there with him. I have brought him down when he got too high, raised him up when he got too low. I have fought next to him, stood with him, laid beside him. I have often known Black Man better than he has known himself. Who am I? I am his mother, his sister, his wife, his daughter, his friend, his lover.

I am Black Woman and I am proud of Black Man.

I Want You…

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.
.
I want you…

I want sapphire skies with diamond eyes
filled with guttural moans and satiated sighs
I want to feel the arc of the moon echoed
in the curve of your spine
I want to feel the breath of your whisper in my ear
screaming that its mine

I want you…

I want to love you with the rising of the sun
and start again when the day is done
I want you to rhyme me in a sonnet
a prose of your own
I want the words to vibrate on my skin
from the bass of your moan

I want you…

I want to run wild in the trap of your gaze
feel the slick of our bodies in a sweaty glaze
I want to hear you scream the words
that would make Mama blush
let the blood flow to your head in a heated rush,
then lick the burn on my abdomen from the carpet plush

I want you…

I want you to fill the void with a dip
then come down lick the cream from my lips
I want to feel us shiver,
feel us tremble, feel us shake
feel the crash to the floor in its wake
go deaf from the scream for its own sake

I want you…

I want you to take me to the brink, risk the cardiac
fuck me ’till I’m flatline,
then fuck me back
I want to feel your body pressed between me and the wall
dependent only on our strength to save us from the fall
Test the limits of our bodies, fight the spasms
roar against the ecstasy, then

  f
    a
      l
         l

into the chasms

I want you…

>========<

dVerse ~Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight

 

Finding Clarity

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Reflections on the dire pasts
Learning or stumbling as life so casts.
Today the air is clear of everything
What was, is what was and has little bearing.
Yes, we were there, but we have never been here before
And the here and now is what’s needed to hold in store.
I stand strong, head held high and unashamed
One with myself , my heart and soul unafraid.
I feel inspired, and find myself in a world full of light
Illuminated from within, I find clarity, insight

Valentine’s Day

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Ah, Valentine’s Day!

A time when laughter and romantic notions of love fills the air and our hearts, giving us all the warm fuzzies.

Unless you are single and especially if you’re of the female persuasion. In that case, Valentine’s Day is to Love as Disney is to Grimm’s Fairy tales.

Valentine’s Day has this amazing ability to magnify the negative feeling of being single by Hubble Telescopic proportions.

An older male (you define older) who was a confirmed bachelor, in the classic sense, was simply a guy who has chosen not to get married. Not that there is something specifically wrong with him which would make him undesirable; simply that he has made the conscious decision to not marry. There are no (well little) negative connotations to that.

The word for a confirmed bachelorette, in the classic sense, was spinster, even if she was in her twenties. After all if a woman wasn’t married and presumably procreating, apparently all she was good for was twisting thread at the spindle? I’d like to throw in that as I typed the word “spinster” my grammar check immediately green-lined me to use the phrase “unmarried woman” instead. I didn’t know my grammar check was so PC! Now if said spinster cum unmarried woman dares to indulge her needs as a sexual being – well, you fill in the blanks… And Gee! Look how much has changed over the centuries in that regard!

If you have friends / Families with significant others you will also have to put up with giggling plans for the big V-Day and you know (or at least really, really feel) they are just showing off. You kind of feel, while they are canoodling in the corner, they’re also glancing at you with semi-pity from the corners of their eyes, thinking: Why don’t you have someone (yet)?

Now throw in all the Jared, “Every kiss begins with “Kay”” and 1-800-FLOWERS ads permeating our televisions and emails.

If you’ve been single for a short or long while , other than the November-December holidays in general (which is its own mind fuck unto itself for the single gal), this is the time of year where you’re most likely to question of yourself: What is wrong with me?

Yeah, I’ve been there more than enough times and do you know what the answer is?

NOT A DAMNED THING!

Sorry Jerry McGuire fans, but I’m about to piss you off. A significant other enhances who you are; they do not complete you, because you are already a whole person. A significant other does not make you any more important or special than before that person interred your life. Because you value yourself, that makes you important. Because you do not just take whatever is thrown your way, for the sake of having a partner, you are special.

In addition, it helps to remind yourself that these “oh so in love with love for the sake of the love of love” semi-perfect couples around Valentines Day are likely the same semi-perfect couples who had a blow up just last week, or last month or whenever. That angel of a partner may be the same person one of your BFFs may be bitching loudly about in another couple of weeks or months.

Go get yourself something sweet, a glass of whatever you want to drink, light some candles, play some anti-love songs and just take it all in stride.

But when…?

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I have now attended a funeral for the third weekend in a row.

Third weekend. IN A ROW.

This new year is only 22 days old and so far I am not liking 2011 at all.

I walked out during the third or fourth person speaking on today’s dearly departed to go to the bathroom. I had my coat with me and instead of going back into the service I put it on and walked out the door. And kept walking;  I just wanted to go home. I was dressed very warm and could only really feel the cold on my face. It wasn’t a deal breaker and i really needed to clear my head so I decided to walk towards home until I became too cold and/or too tired.

That alone should have been a warning bell, but I was in no state to hear it.

As I’m walking I’m going through a tsunami of emotions.   I cycle in and out of insomnia, going two-three days without sleeping, then coming home and being out cold before 8pm and not rising until my alarm goes off at 5am.  These near weekly snow storms and work related issues have added to the stress. I bury one friend for infinity last week; then in a completely unexpected turn of events a former friendship I had emotionally buried suddenly finds itself resurrected this week, which brings in a whole new set of emotional turmoil as we awkwardly work out trying to find our way back to some state of what was.  Add in I went out, got completely wasted and had to go to work the next day with my head all over the emotional scale. And yesterday, I learn another friend has made the decision to move to another state and will be doing so relatively soon. I’ve put up a fantastic front, but I see this past week especially is taking its toll.

I was  five blocks from “home” when the warning bell I did not hear earlier went into full on Star Trek red alert klaxon mode. I was heading towards the wrong home. I was heading towards the home I lived in when I was still married. It is in the exact opposite direction of where I live now and had been walking out in this freezing ass weather for a good thirty minutes before I noticed. What the fuck? The enormity of it comes crushing down on me and suddenly I am freezing and exhausted. I hop in a cab and go home.

So here I am. In my warm bed, partially on my lap top typing this, partially gazing at what’s left of the sunlight bouncing off the snow-covered rooftops,  trying to defrost from more than the weather that’s left me feeling cold.  As I sit here, I realize, with all the emotional turmoil I’ve gone through, I’ve yet to cry.  Yes, I’ve shed tears. But I have yet to have that long hard, crawl into a fetal position, full-out, deep ugly soul cleansing bawl. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks hugging people, holding people, reaching out to people giving them encouragement, letting them know they’re going to be okay.  Yes, I could go and have been to my friends where I find succor and loving support.  But me being me, keep moving on. I’m moving on so well in fact, I head towards the wrong home. Why?  Because it was the last place where I was loved.

That no questions asked (because they already know or have a good idea), loved. That pull you into their arms, holding you tight loved. That not letting you go until it’s as out as it can be loved. That maybe it takes a few minutes, maybe it takes an hour, maybe it takes until you fall asleep exhausted loved. That’s what I need. However, only the Powers-That-Be can say when I’ll known such once more.

I know that breakdown is coming, but when? I pray that the tipping point does not occur in the middle of the work week, because that would be just craptacular to fall apart at work.

In the interim, I write and I wait…

Sigh…

In Smiling Silence – Redux

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Feeling forced into a role of valiance
For my tears seem of little credence
I bear this all in smiling silence

They say “It’s not for us to ask Him why”
Or the “It’ll get better by and by”
It’s two weeks! I’m not entitled to cry?
I bear this all in smiling silence

Trying to squelch fears in their own attitudes?
Is it for me folks spew these platitudes?
And THEY’RE upset I don’t nod in gratitude
I bear this all in smiling silence

Because I’m sitting here shattered-hearted
Some take it as permission to get started
On a run of their own dearly departed
I bear this all in smiling silence

Tears flow and I hide feeling contrite
Are my tears only allowed in the night
Far away from everyone else’s sight?
I bear this all in smiling silence

I’m not asking to dwell in an abyss
But I’m consoling others – something’s amiss!
Much as I need to give a moment to this
I bear this all in smiling silence

===== <>  =====

I initially wrote the above as an angry, sobbing stream of consciousness in my journal within days of becoming a widow.  Even, now years later, I sat biting my lip resisting the urge to choke yet another person who says “I’m sorry for your loss”, “It’s all part of a greater plan”, “He needed him more” and other well-meaning but sickeningly trite counsel. Watching a new widow of barely a week graciously handle the condolences that come her way, I can’t help but be reminded of when I was in that exact position.

I can tell by the half-glazed look in her eyes she’s merely going through the motions expected of her and all I can do is watch.  One moment she calls me to her, as she feels that I am the only one in the room who really understands exactly what she is going through. The next moment, like the one in which I’m just watching from a distance, she pushes me away as I am a reminder of what exactly she is now – a widow.  The stages of denial and anger just beginning their ugly battling. I’m also hoping that she’ll see,  though she is far from being able to see and accept it right now, that she also will get through this and will eventually be okay.

I’m headed for home soon. I left a copy of the above poem for her.  Just a way of letting her know that this anger at everyone being nice, even if by route of traditional platitudes, is also normal.  I’ll happily pay it forward and help her through those clichéd, but so true, seven stages as I was lucky to have the guidance of those who also traveled this road. For as annoying as it is to hear in repetition, the only acceptable platitudes were/are “one day at a time” and “it does get better”.

Because eventually we all learn – one breath, one moment, one minute and yes, one day at a time, it does.