On Spring

sealladh

their majesty was impossible to comprehend. 

it was not a view that could be captured and bottled in a picture, reflected as it was in the eye of a camera. it was more - 

vast and swelling even without an orchestral score. it was the impossibility, perhaps: 

the stretch of the water, endless in its breadth, the patter of rain against lush grass, the vibrance of flowers unfurled against an overcast sky. 

it was fog on the opposite coast, a river cutting through the hills.

 it was all at once a tender kiss and a giddy laugh, ancient and ephemeral and undisturbed. 

of course it inspired words - endless poetry, song, folklore, myth. for what was left when even pictures could not suffice? 

you needed to live it, feel it, breathe it, and even then it was not enough, an endless waterfall with only a droplet slipped between wanting lips. 

it was simply too much - for how could anyone begin to understand the edge of the world? It tasted of endings, 

it tasted of beginnings.

the heart

i want to write poetry but there’s no words in my mouth

saliva foams to the surface and there’s no sink to spit it out

clogged with frustration and rage,

i tell you:

i stopped trusting myself a long time ago

the heart is not the guarantor of interest.

i go back, again and again

find solace in the cage,

my present moment unsatisfying, and yet

more concievable than a future where i changed

the heart beats and tells me to listen.

mortal hand, electric flow, i tell it no.

action potential, depolarization

numb limbs, itching skin, proof, here;

that my body mattered, in a way, in the end

when they pressed an ear to my chest

still warm with fading beat,

ready to rest,

it told them, whispered secret;

she tried to escape me, separate me, deflect

and when the soul goes unnourished, body suffers

the energy pervades, more spent on the physical

on mental toil, means none for the rest

when she hated herself, she knew it was wrong

but she couldn’t convince herself of the best

good was not worth it, and she sunk, and i beat

until she finished me, too, inevitably, like the rest

‘now bury me quietly’ it said happily, contract and release salted life

the heart was right, in the end, as it is

neglect mind, neglect body, neglect soul

i tried to love you, it was supposed to be you

but you were never the goal

bygones

i remember that time when the sun danced on your face on the bus ride and you thought you looked beautiful

once, long ago, when your hair was soaked with water and happiness

your friends asleep on your shoulders on a bus, your throat hoarse from laughter

the light left as the planet tilted, but so slowly you didn't realize it was night until you couldn't see the sun

you used to press pen to the paper without hesitation

without an eye for your own failings

you would stand outside and inhale the fresh air and feel a lump in your throat.

i wish i was like you

that i could draw forever, and play forever, and sit on a bus and laugh

i wish i had cherished you while you lived

your golden days, to you, were brown

overlooked the happiness for the homework

i wish i could go back to that time, when i was you and we were one and our memories were events of the present

i wish that the days hadn’t moved like the tides, puppeteered by the swiftly tilting moon

but the times have turned and sand once dry has been dampened

i still see the stars

i’ll cherish each light until i'm left in the endless abyss

and i’ll realize that these were the good times too.

elpis

nobody taught me what happiness was,

i had to teach myself.

i sought it in a golden fleece,

but it wasn’t found in riches

i sought it in the thunderbolt,

but it wasn’t found in god

i sought it in my mother’s hand,

but she never learned it either

i sought it in my own heart,

but the feeling wouldn’t linger.

nobody taught me what happiness was,

it’s simpler to stay sad

you have to save yourself, i realized

it’s easier said than done

when you’ve convinced yourself you don’t need saving,

that the bone-deep hurt is in everyone.

i made myself happy enough, i bluffed but i should’ve known

enough is never enough

my heart was never my home

i flayed myself at the altar

i bent backwards for pelias

his upward gaze did not falter, 

a midas touch could not settle the rest.

there was no reason, none at all

but i could not accept it,

i think i've always been a little scared of happiness

for me, it was never destined. 

nobody taught me what happiness was,

but i’m trying to learn it now

i’m sorry i hurt so easy

i’m sorry i didn’t treat you well

i’m sorry i stayed complacent, couldn’t face it, didn’t cherish what you gave me 

i hope you can forgive this 

i hope you trust me with your gift

i’d turn back for you, every single time

for one sun-dappled glimpse.

nobody taught me what happiness was,

i think i figured it out.

it's trying, with everything you have, to find it

you owe it to yourself.

from a fall walk home

i walked a stranger's footsteps today,

there seemed a poem in that

i turned my feet to match his gait

slowed mine to his own crooked path

he walked with haste irregular

tempo change could not meet the eye

but i felt it, for a minute, we were one

on that path, in that space, he and i

he does not know, for a minute there

another walked his rhythym

his stride was longer, his steps were quicker

perhaps he sought to make haste

and sure, it was weird

he would have found it so, too

but for that minute i was him in delay

i understood his perception

and the give of his limbs

i knew of his body's affections

soon our steps fell into disfavor

before leaf underfoot gave way

we were entities once more, unique paths on the ground

before my door, i turned but he walked away

maybe i will see him again, on my mellow walk home

maybe our eyes will connect

i would not know him by feature nor face

but maybe i’d fall into step

and recognize a gait from a dream long ago

a temporal space once inhabited

it was you, i would think, i was you for a minute

and we’d pass by and walk on again

on fall

fall is a season for the lovers

transitory and fleeting,

never quite settling in one place or time

fall is never landing,

a leaf carried by the wind

pushed by forces outside you

to places you didn’t want to be, perhaps

but you find yourself there regardless.

fall is the gentle whisper of the breeze, transformed

to the violence of a hurricane

wind chapped skin, fingernails brittle, you fall.

clawing for something you’ll never have

praying for something you’ll never be

desperate to affix yourself to the branch

but you’re adrift now, and

there’s no going back.

fall is still falling,

after the storm ends

after everyone moves on and forgets,

fall is left behind.

memory trapped in a brittle, orange leaf

sliding to rest on the slope of a dying hill

“home at last,” it whispers, as it flakes away

“home at last”

excerpt from ch 9

Zela’s place was not here. Not in this restaurant, not with these people. The sooner she recognized that, the sooner she could get over it.

Wiping angry tears from her blotchy face, she rushed out into the cool night air, retreating to the safety of her car.

She slammed the steering wheel. Once. Twice. And then she crumpled.

Was it so bad to have company pride? To love what she did? Should she not adore her workplace and the people who worked there?

She fished out the rook, placing it gently on the dashboard. She still remembered it as if it were yesterday – Christmas, age twelve. The snow was falling hard outside, and Zela had woken up to a wonderland blizzard. The family had stayed inside, yelling in joy, chasing each other, wrapping paper strewn across the carpet. Her father had swung Malin around, who, of course, was jubilant. Zela watched, wanting to join, but Darren couldn’t hold two daughters at once. So her mother had pulled her from behind, shouting and grinning. She had brought down the chessboard from the shelf, and said with candy eyes and a nutmeg tongue, I think it’s time you learned the game.

Zela refused to stop until she won, but hours passed, and she couldn’t. After her fourth checkmate by the rook and a break for dinner, Zela snuck the piece off the board. Her mother pretended not to notice. Kita won anyway – but she never asked for the piece back.

Zela didn’t win that day. Nor could she the next, or the next week, or the next month.

Within the year, they were at a stalemate. After a year, Zela was consistently winning.

After two years, Zela started high school. According to her mother, there wasn’t time for chess anymore. There wasn’t time for family.

Her chest ached.

She still remembered the scent, the laughter. The warmth of four bodies in the same room. She still remembered the music. 

Zela exhaled, half expecting to see her breath puff before her. But it was summer, and the snow hadn’t come in years. 

on winter

come winter, i am flimsy,

waxen paper on dry breeze

crumpled by the pressure, and

hardened by the cold

come winter, i can’t. 

every breath hurts to breathe

frost forced down your lungs, 

spider fingers in your veins, it

peels off your jacket

it ignores whimper of pain

biting your skin,

frozen heartbeat gone

come winter, it hurts

and you don’t want to fight

it is someone else,

naked, battered,

beaten, bruised 

but it is you, knocking on that door

it is you, begging to be let in

ember dying in the cold,

frost-bitten fingertips and

stone cold pit to be thawed.

it is you, feathers sodden by rainfall

petrichor dirt freshly churned on your grave

and desperate plea,

and hope for something better

it is you, who shakes off the water

and emerges, drenched in warmth,

ready, now, yearning, 

to be set alight

shuffle

i think that when i saw something pleasing in the cut of your cheekbone and the cruel uptick of your lips, that i wanted something to call mine

and i knew you looked like someone who would hurt me but the all the tv shows in the world taught me that danger is exciting, and all the warnings in the world couldn’t stop me from getting in too deep

even though i never really lost anything, it sometimes feels like i lose everything, again and again

and i want to find that happiness, the sparkle of an eye and the softening of creases, i want

someone to make plans with, i want to be so in love that it’s disgusting, and all the tv shows in the world convinced me that to get to the happy ending, you were supposed to find love on the way

but i’ve kissed a couple guys, and none of them stayed, and as they fragment my trust and my perception of loyalty, 

i’ve more frequently stayed my hand, and perhaps a part of me looked at the patterns and recognized that something easy might not be in the cards

and that i was maybe unloveable or simply incapable of loving in any way recognizable by someone with the capacity to love me back

so i try to decline the danger to protect my heart from getting hurt, but its a self fulfilling prophecy, that when you don’t show your hand youre on the defensive

and it’s a perverse self-torture, but i imagine you reading these and knowing me, an exchange of understanding that doesn’t have to involve spoken words

so often buffered by meaninglessness and impulse

but there’s hurdle upon hurdle of expectation on reality and movement slow and fast, and besides, love isn’t real anymore but simply fighting, in a game that was never supposed to have sides

and once we draw, we reshuffle and try again 

neptune

we are simply the universe interacting with itself, a tentative touch, a shared breath.

and we must be tender with each other, for we are fragile

and we are real,

and you are real.

and you know yourself best, so you should know best that you are deserving of joy and every delicate softness that you stop to rub your cheek against, to feel that conjoining of two forgiving things.

to know that you can love, wanton and gorgeous, sunlit smile touched by every person who has treated you with care,

and possibly treat someone else with care, too.

you can have everything you want, dear

you only have to know that you deserve it

you only have to forgive yourself

dread has no place in our ecosystem, in our tangled, finite hearts

we are the universe, of the same stardust sprinkled onto fertile soil

we are the universe, nursed and nurtured into our positions

we are the universe, laid gently to rest when we are done

we are the universe, and we can help make it a little more bearable before we take our final bow.

don’t go chasing the rest, darling, because you can care without reciprocation

you can simply love

and it is a vulnerability, yes, but not a weakness

it is not a weakness.