Tag Archives: finish

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Soft my heart

Soft my heart forgives and lets go,
lets go of reconciling. We won’t. I won’t.
I have waited long enough. I forgive all
and I am done waiting. I let it all go and
walk forward into a different life.
The Sufis lead me: the teacher must judge when
the student is ready. I am not a teacher.
I am always a student. I want to learn
always and change. I let go. Farewell, my dears,
you still have my love but you do not have me.
I no longer care, I don’t long for your love,
I let you live your stuffed and twisted lives
in peace, without me importuning you,
to listen to think to grow with me
and you don’t want to so I am free.

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Written February 17, 2024. As with most of my poems, I don’t know how it will end until I write it. Poem as prayer. The ending surprised me, too.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: reconcile.

I don’t know who took the photograph. From left to right, my sister, cousin, me, cousin, taken at Lake Matinenda in Ontario, Canada.

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Finish line

I did manage to cross the finish line for the Blogging from A to Z.

It was a bit tricky because I had a last minute trip. I got the tickets last Sunday and flew on Tuesday. I flew back on Friday and got home on Saturday. I traveled super light: no laptop, no big camera, only phone and a small day pack and one change of clothes, so I washed some by hand daily. I am proud that I still got the A to Z done!

I feel more like a finisher than a winner. It does feel good to share so much of my mother’s artwork. Helen Burling Ottaway died at age 61 in 2000, so her artwork did not have much of an internet presence. She is present in the Lake Matinenda Cottage Owners Association here. She and my uncle and other family and friends worked on a Matinenda flora of the wildflowers and plants. There have been two more since.

Hooray for everyone who contributed to or supported or read the Blogging from A to Z this month and hmmm, what should I do next year?

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Finish?

“Get rid of him. Send a letter. Never speak to him again.” Male friend one.

“You need to read He’s Just Not That Into You.” Male friend two.

“There are other fish in the sea.” Brother.

“Men are too high maintenance.” Female mentor twenty years older than me.

But but but.

A poem circles in her head. “There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very very good. When she was bad she was horrid.”

We are like the poem. We bring out each other’s small child, two to four years old, who was hidden and traumatized. We laugh like hyenas. We play with words. We compare childhoods, each sometimes terrible, each full of scars. And when we disagree, we are also like four year olds. We want to stomp our feet and sulk. He wins the sulking award though. I worked through an awful lot of it with my sister and much effort, over 40 years. My sister was as smart as me or smarter intellectually. It’s the emotional part that is so hard to heal. Will you or won’t you, will you or won’t you, will you or won’t you, won’t you join the dance?

I don’t think he will.

But, but, but.

The small bird of hope sings happily and says he will, he will, he will…

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: finish.

The photograph is me and my daughter years ago. Her expression is very thoughtful because I think this is the first time she is seated in an adult chair. She is thinking about it. I am not sure who took the photograph.

Epilogue.