Tag Archives: love

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Eating sunlight

Beloved
I don’t think I can bear this
It’s a good plan
To work five more years
And retire in better financial shape
House paid off
But it hurts so

My tattered bruised and battered heart
Already patched so many times
And to see so many people each day
Hurting

Why, Beloved?
Why don’t we mature?

Maybe I’ll be a tree again
Living wood
That bends and moves with the wind
That eats the sunlight
Drinks the rain
Endures the snow and drinks it as it melts
Until spring comes
And I stir and start to bud
Deciding when it’s time
To uncurl leaves in warm sun

_______________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt illusion. Or should it be delusion? Or survival? Or beyond that to peace?

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Perspective: beneath the clouds

Beloved why?
I am glad for your love
and warmth
and connection
and my cat’s
and my adult children
friends
family
patients
work
and why? Beloved

A high Adverse Childhood Experience Score
Two alcoholic parents
One sick with tuberculosis through pregnancy
Letters from the hospital to her mother
After birth
Never mention me
As if I do not exist

She told a story that she dreamed
she gave birth to kittens
played with them
and gave them away

Not a dream of joyously welcoming her new baby
Me.
Yet I didn’t hate her or my father
My damaged parents
My damaged sister
Who followed their path, not mine
There was nothing I could do
Only three years old when she was born
Try to shield and mother her
As best I could

Why Beloved
I have tried so hard to grow
to love
to forgive
and yet I have no human lover

My cat jumps on my notebook
And interrupts this writing
She is happier to welcome me home
Than any man I’ve ever dated

My daughter’s boyfriend picks her up
at the airport and has made her dinner

If I am a failure at love with a partner
Or too smart or damaged or difficult
To love
For humans
At least my children have both found love
And if I were to choose me or them
Yes, I’d choose them

Is that why, Beloved?
Sacrifice to heal the next generation?
It is worth it.

And yet, that small child part of me
That even as a toddler thought the adults were unpredictable, dangerous, mean when drunk as they laughed.
She is angry at them, Beloved
She is angry at you, Beloved
Or at people
Or at the universe
She still believes in every cell, in her bone marrow, in the vast universe in her mind

that she too could be, should be

loved.

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Dissolution

I am sorting, Beloved.

I dream that my sister has drowned
in the ocean. A sailboat went down.
There were others on board.
Two friends ready me to dive and find her.
I don’t want to scuba dive, I am not trained.
I don’t know how to use the equipment.
I am afraid I will drown too.
I see her daughter, who is four.
Her daughter knows from my face that her mother is lost.
My friends say, “You will be able to find her.
You can find your sister.”
“But she is dead,” I say.
“I don’t want to find her.”
I know that they are right, I could find her.
But I might be separated and lost, in the depths.
I don’t want to die too.

I wake up.
The dream sticks.
My friends wanting me to wear a borrowed wetsuit
and scuba gear and go down untrained.
My sister floating in the depths, dead eyes open.
But she has been dead for years, I think.
And this is the sea of dreams
my unconscious
the greater unconscious
everything.
So why isn’t my sister’s body dissolving?
Changing to a skeleton.
A skeleton coming apart over the years.

I don’t need a wetsuit
or scuba gear
to dive in the sea of dreams
I can breathe in the unconscious
I have been to the bottom of the sea
many times before.

My niece is four in the dream.
She was thirteen when her mother died.
I think she was lost to me long before that.
The dream knows.
Her mother was lost to me
when my niece was four.
Drowned.

When the dream returns
I will say yes to the dive
I love the sea and the ocean and going deep
I don’t need a wetsuit
I don’t need scuba gear
I don’t need to find my sister’s body
She is gone
Dissolved
I let my past go.

I have not dreamed of the ocean

since.

__________________________________

I really don’t know where my sister is, because of the family schism after she died. Are her ashes somewhere?

This poem wanted to be born. For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Who knew?

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Concord

my heart is broken
love doesn’t conquer all
unselfish love
unreturned
unrequited
opens me to wound after wound
some turn from love no matter what
cling to the lies they tell themselves
cling to the poison they embrace
turn from love into the uncaring bottle
turn from love into the insensate smoke
turn from love even to the grave

I wish my heart would let them go
and heal

__________________

My friend Liz took the photograph, half way through the Rainshadow Chorale concert last Sunday.

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Friends forever no matter what

My small child self is happy
Happy inside
She loves who she loves
Living or dead
In contact or fled
Distant or close
She loves who she loves
And I hold her close

My adult self is happy
Happy inside
I love who I love
And the world is so wide
Living or dead
In contact or fled
Loving forever
No matter what happens
I love who I love
My heart holds them close

My small child grieved losses
I hold her close
She loves them all
I guard her from most
She stays friends forever
No matter the grief
She is happy in loving
Her loves shine as stars
The ones who are hurtful
Are loved from afar
She’s held and she’s loved
And her love sings unmarred

_______________________________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: dogwood and for Mother’s Day. Mine died 25 years ago.

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When I get older

Is it ok for me to be a bit lazy?
A bit unkempt?
Not care about dandelions?
Weigh more?
Want to lie around after lunch?
Maybe there is something I should be doing

Maybe there isn’t something I should be doing
Maybe I should be gazing at the navel of the universe
Maybe I should be gazing at the navel of the Beloved
Maybe I should not be doing all the time
Maybe I should wait
Maybe I should watch
Maybe I should appreciate
Being here

_________________________

I am posting this without a photograph.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: curtain.

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Pathos

Beloved, what is my path?

I remember. You are gone and dead
I lie on my side, close my eyes
I feel your body behind mine
your arm tucked under me
your breath on my hair
your body warmth against me
your arm lying across my side
thighs and knees relaxed against mine
you are not gone and dead
as long as I can remember

Beloved, what is my path?

I remember. A path alone
so that I can see
so that I can hear
so that I can feel
so that I can write
Beloved, you set the path before me
a brief elaboration of a tube
Beloved, sometimes I want
Beloved, sometimes I say why
Beloved, sometimes I forget

And then I remember

_______________________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: March.

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Purity’s post

The root word for Katherine is pure, so Purity will write today’s post. Purity read about illeism in this BBC article: https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20230411-illeism-the-ancient-trick-to-help-you-think-more-wisely. Purity admits that it feels a bit embarrassing to write in the third person here on the blog, very egotistical, but that is not what the article is about. It is about writing that way in one’s journal. Purity has been trying it and it is interesting. It sets events at a distance and quiets and muffles the emotions related to events. How very curious.

Purity does not plan to keep writing this way on the blog nor does she plan to start speaking with a royal we. However, the United States appears to be in a state of chaotic stupidity and it is affecting everyone. Not just in the United States, but the rest of the world as well. Purity thinks of the United States as a teenage country, struggling with hormones, while the old countries stand back, watch and sigh. “At some point he will mature,” they say to each other. “Or destroy himself.” And yes, a male teenage country, stupid and boastful with testosterone. Purity thinks it will take the United States another 200 years to live down President #47 and his minions, if we survive.

At any rate, Purity hopes that the prompt of illeism might be more light hearted and be a new word to some people and tickle their fancies. Apparently our fancies mostly lie in our cats. Cats certainly seem to be experts in illeism. May you each feel as wonderful today as a cat when they own the world.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: illiesm.

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If eggs aren’t available, why can we still buy chicken?

I note this article this week: https://apnews.com/article/usda-firings-doge-bird-flu-trump-fdd6495cbe44c96d471ae8c6cf4dd0a8. That version says that the Trump Administration is trying to rehire bird flu experts that got fired. Most of the news outlets frame it differently: https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/doge/usda-accidentally-fired-officials-bird-flu-rehire-rcna192716. Suddenly it is the USDA at fault not the Trump administration’s chainsaw fool.

Should we worry about bird flu? Oh, yes, I think so. I have been wondering why we still have chicken to eat and chicken in the stores, if millions of chickens are being wiped out to try to prevent H5N1 bird influenza from moving into humans. This article explains in unreassuring detail how factory farms, packing chickens together, and killing them at 6 weeks old for meat, puts pressure on the virus to become more deadly and kill the host. In wild birds the influenza virus wants to spread, so it’s better not to kill the host fast. That is not true on our national and international big factory farms.

The Unnatural History of Bird Flu

Firing the people working the track the H5N1 bird influenza and trying to stop it if it starts going human to human, well. Is that injustice or arrogance or stupidity? Or all three? And who wants to work for the government now? It is being treated as a corporation, but it isn’t a corporation. Public service often pays less. Good luck hiring the best and brightest who want to serve our country and humanity.

This is the worst year in the US for influenza since 2017-2018 so far. That is without the H5N1 bird influenza really getting in to people. Here is the graph for the week ending February 15th from the CDC. I keep an eye on it all through influenza season.

The article on H5N1 bird influenza is the best argument I’ve ever read for choosing not to eat meat. I like meat, but the factory farming is going to more countries. It may produce more eggs and more chickens, but if it is also the perfect breeding ground for lethal influenza, that changes my viewpoint. We cannot go on. We will have another pandemic.

Why are humans such fools?

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: injustice.

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Unweighted

Words behind my back
damaging
hurtful
gossip and lies
I forgive
I wait

I wait

I wait, wait, weight

Weighted 13 years
For them to speak to me
Instead of about me
At last waiting makes me angry
I have forgiven
tried to connect
some of them say they love me
this is not love
waiting
weight of hurt and anger

And I let go
of the wait
of the weight

I forgive myself
I am free
I rise
I let them go
they are forgiven
but they may not enter my life
again
not ever

I forgive myself
I am free
I rise

unweighted

________________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompts: weight and chopper. My heart is what is chopped, and the abandoning friends and family wielded the choppers.