Palling Around

They say you shouldn't meet your heroes

with the implication slopped heavily across the top

that meeting a hero might lead to being disappointed at their utter humanness

But I met a hero

And instead of being disappointed

I was engulfed by his humanness

I was uplifted by the ideas that spun from his inner well like cigar-and-steak hued cotton candy

I wanted to snort the powder of his humanness

and i don't even know if that's a word, but i keep using it, so it must be

and we were reconstituting the dehydrated world from a lifetime ago, 

three worlds away, 

in the original land of blogging

We aren't even the same people anymore, 

I don't even have the same name - 

but we were as natural a fit as if we'd grown up together on some farm or compound somewhere...

but maybe that's a memory that hasn't happened yet

In any case, 

it was nice.

Deeply nice.

Cheers, mate.

Adrift

I am lost at sea

tossed about on the waves I've made

When did i stop prioritizing the right things?

When did i let go and turn selfish and greedy?

I am here, alone with my thoughts, without all that I have built

choosing friends who don't even see the best in me

friends with wisdom and good advice but so much fear

I am whole

i am broken

i am strong and healthy and tired and old

i am sad

but so, so happy

did I let myself follow a new leader and forget everything else?

did i let myself lose sight of what's important?

No such thing

I thought I'd found my happily ever after

I thought I knew what I wanted, and that it was you

So many years of joy and deep satisfaction

Even I can't comprehend that I don't want that anymore

Endings aren't happy, not this time

So many endings this year

that i don't even know who i am anymore

Denial

I have always known I would lose you

but I didn't believe it was true.

I want more

    for you, of you.

I know that you have fought incredible odds to remain as long as you have.

You have been willing to sacrifice your comfort, your peace, your sanity

for those you love, those who depend on you.

You love so well...oh, I've never seen love like yours!

Your love astounds me, awes me, fills my every pore.

Your love is voluminous and limitless.

You quietly move through this world on your own frequency - 

out of beat with the rest of humanity,

nearly immortal with the vastness of your days, the brevity of your nights.

You toil heavily onward as the rest of us rest; 

you create and build and tend as we recover from this light-and-easy living that we do.

You are so certain that you are a burden...

you are so certain that the price we pay for your presence is a price that is painful to pay.

The pain is in your absence.

Our pain, that is...

The idea that your pain is in remaining present takes my breath away,

surges tears across my cheeks.

I believe you.

I can only barely see the outline of the enormity of your struggle to stay as long as you have, and it is still easy to believe you that it is too much to continue.

I wish...I wish that prayers worked.

I wish that my love could heal your body's illness the way yours heals my soul.

I wish that I could dissolve into mist and wind my way into your dreams so that I could vanquish those demons and let sleep be the refuge you deserve.

I wish there was a treatment that didn't leave you hollow and lifeless.

I wish. I wish...

but instead, I'm grateful.

So very fucking grateful.

Generations

The rich taste is still on my tongue

as I clean carefully, an important part of the ritual -

every tool, every receptacle scoured 

then placed into the dishwasher for a final disinfection.

Every surface washed, washed again.

The spiny, bright red carcasses -

jagged and wet -

are piled into the waiting double-layered bags propped in the sink;

bags are tied off, placed into the kitchen trash -

which is immediately tied off and taken to the outside bin.

The germ load is negligible; the residue easily wiped from surfaces.

The taste...every buttery, white-and-red fleshy bite...exquisite.

But that smell.

The heavy odor hangs in the air

clings to every surface

coils around the coils of my hair,

sinks into my pores.

Too hot outside to open windows

(why am I living here...in...Allentown...?),

I'll clean again tomorrow and wait for the smell to dissipate.

But before the ritual,

seawater dripping from my elbows,

fingers raw from ripping apart at joints,

busting open at weak spots...

I stand over my kitchen counter in post-workout-shower pajamas, 

barefoot and grinning like a girl in love,

and shovel bite after bite straight into my mouth;

some get slopped through the custard dish of melted butter

but most go straight onto my tongue...

I sigh deeply, eyes closed, savoring...

I think of all the men in my bloodline who have broken their bodies 

or lost their lives hauling these gorgeous, 

deep-brown-and-golden ancient insects from the frigid currents 

at the bottom of the Atlantic.

I think of the sun creeping-then-blasting over the horizon, 

melting its colors across the surface, 

painting over the blue for brief day-breaking moments 

until the oranges and pinks melt away again and leave the blue - 

sparkles dancing across the surface, blinding.

Or the heavy mornings of air so thick with fog that even they could get lost.

Or the bitterly cold March mornings 

with wind that cuts through every layer of wool, neoprene, gortex, skin-blood-bone.

My father, his father; my brothers.

My uncles, their sons.

The men who married my cousins,

the island girl who divorced one.

The men who learned from their fathers, or neighbors, 

or the one who moved to town during high school -

all were beckoned by the unexpected Sirens to a harsh, grueling vocation.

I might not want the smell to linger,

but I'll hold close my memories and quiet reverence 

for the work it took 

to get these perfect creatures out of the ocean 

and into my happy belly.

Full

It's so scary to know that it could all go away, for any number of reasons. 

I'll try to focus on the joy instead... 

The joy of knowing a heart as vast and magnificent as the Atlantic Ocean on a cold Maine morning, or the plains of Montana, sweeping out from your toes to the foothills of those sky scraping peaks... 

The joy of knowing you... 

The joy of your eyes on mine, your skin on mine. 

The joy of your life's stories pouring into my vessel to hold for a while. 

The joy, the joy. Of you. 

Self, Loathed

I fear 

          myself, 

          impending loss, 

          massive change... 

I am lost...don't know myself, 

   don't trust myself. 

I fear my sexual expression, 

    my creative expressions 

     through words and food - 

        my love of food. 

My zest for life itself cowers under the hovering cloud of bad choices. 

I fear, I fear

I fear hurting the ones I love

Again

More

Still

I am a crumpled-up paper towel...stiff, but formless - 

used, but not for any great purpose. 

I've achieved all I ever wanted to, and then my gluttony turned rancid and I've tainted it all. 

But what more should I dream of, than the beauty I've already built, nurtured, achieved? 

What more do I deserve? 

At this point - 

Nothing. 

I deserve nothing. 

Nothing good, at least. 

Pain and anguish and despair? 

Yes. 

I've earned those. 

Pile them on, as is my due. 

And then, what? 

What next? 

When do I start to dream again? Of the joys and passions and beautiful things? 

Redirect

For me, love's trajectory is always pointing toward forever.

As it blossoms from the smallest seeds, it builds toward forever in every whisper, at every root and from every leaf. It hurts when it ends, because my heart was laying a foundation for always...

Loving fiercely 

Checking and adjusting 

Forever might be shorter than I expected

Warm Saturdays in November

This trail... It keeps me.

Sometimes I will myself to float away

High above it all

Away

To otherness, of any kind

My heart holds all that matters,

So why not let my body drift into the ether?

Why not morph into the landscape or the clouds above -

become the rain and nourish the earth?

This trail is freedom and limits, all in one.

I float a little, tethered by its boundaries.

Relief

 Let me be your home. 

Not the building I sleep in, 

cook in,

bathe in -

But

My body - 

the warm beat of my heart, 

the soft touch of my skin on yours - let this form 

that houses my love for you 

be the place 

that brings you peace. 

Collapse into me 

and let me carry your weeping brokenness 

and your weary bones.

Fading

I wanted you to save me

I wanted you to be my new life story

but

instead

here we are

You drift into the river that needs to carry you onward, away

and I

well

I just spin around in circles,

caught in the eddy of all the converging currents.

Will I find my way forward?

Or am I just meant to drift into the quiet?

And if all that lies ahead of me is quiet, do I want to continue?

It feels like the right answer.

I should just be humble

and grateful for a place to be quiet.

I should let go of the thrill of discovery – 

of myself and others.

I should forget how it feels to fall

and just be happy I landed.

I should be dutiful and self-sacrificing, 

like my mother taught me.

I should find joy in others’ joy and fade into the background.

I should be grateful. I should be grateful.

 

Yours

I'll warn you, though...

I might leave marks... 

I might howl like a hurricane, 

and absorb you into my being... 

I might stop time 

so I can feel you inside me 

for an eternity 

in those brief moments

of your skin on mine.... 

I might...

   leave a bloody chunk of my heart splattered across your face, 

panting and glassy-eyed...

I might. 

I might survive without you, 

but I might not want to. 

Sunday Sermon

 It's not a sermon

Exactly

But my hope for us all

A day to rest

From my own thoughts

And desires. 

Both are massive, weighty, enormous burdens. 

I will float and doze and dream and 

Maybe

Find relief, refreshment, repentance.

Laughter with two of my favorite girls among the trees, 

Along the creek. 

Yes. 

I can be whole again... 

Someday. 

Hikers' Hitch

Remember this place?

I remember you,

even though you weren’t still there when I arrived.

I remember facing my fear of falling

as I walked along this narrow rock.

I remember feeling stronger than I ever had

and feeling like maybe I could fly

but grateful I didn’t have to.

I remember hearing the growl of a motorcycle echoing from a few years before,

and the determination of a kid who wandered this earth untethered –

I didn’t even know you existed, but I wanted to be near you.

I wasn’t ready for your untamed growling giggles yet

but I stood at the top of this rock and knew that someday I would be.

Fatal Devotion

 I am a crisp sheet of parchment

Golden, mottled

Words scratched across my surface with the silky black splashes of a quill

He is a flame

Licking at my edges

Gentle, warm

Until, with the hushed sound of my own insistent whimpers, he engulfs me all at once, and charges through me, leaving only ashes.

Fatherhood

Your face looks tinged with happiness 

when viewed sideways, upside down...

Striking is the love, the tenderness of parental bond.

When seen directly the mood shifts -

You are tired, 

you worry, 

you miss him already even while he's snuggled into your side, because he'll be leaving soon.

You want to give him the world, 

but you know he can't hold it. 

So you'll keep hauling it along on your shoulders - 

they grow broader, 

you never struggle to stand upright, 

but the hollow ache grows vast within you at times. 

He deserves to be elevated by all that you have to give him 

and you feel helpless, 

barred from this benefaction.

I am awed and humbled.

Home, Again

Shooshing along familiar routes

under the hush of winter's eve

and the welcoming beacon of a full moon, 

we sneak into town.

Glimpses of dark, twinkling movement on either side,

we wend our way between bays and inlets,

across rivers and past harbors.

Each mile draws a deeper breath,

a gentler smile.

A sleeping Main St. greets us in Wiscasset, then Thomaston...

We roll and coast along the unfurled ribbon of Buttermilk Lane,

its marsh lit by the cool moon glow.

We shoot past the runways

and as we turn away from the head of the bay,

(west, maybe, like the street's name)

memories wash over me of all the years my parents drove along this very spot.

Memories of each of them, strong and capable -

     The years of the crab business,

the years of running us to church and dances and school and everything else "in town".

The drives they made without us.

The cold in our bones some winters when the car's heater crapped out -

but driving my giggling friends and I the 2 hours each way to that swoonerific concert anyway.

All of the beauty in the acts of love and sacrifice and expertly cooked meals.

All of the library trips and the camping trips and the beach walks...

The windy days on the rumbling lobster boat, or warm days picking berries. 

These trees and roads are suffused with my childhood,

with all the building blocks of who I became.

I don't stop to savor it often.

Usually I skim upon the surface,

cramming new experiences on top of the old so fast and urgently... 

Tonight, I let myself miss my parents for a moment.

And maybe I'll do it again some day.

Baptism By Arias

We sit in the dark, 

at the top of the arena, 

rich notes filling the air. 

I wear a dress, heels. 

You're dashing in your suit. 

I slip my hand under your waist band and down, 

lightly stroking, 

movements constricted, 

hungry for more. 

Furtive kisses, 

Stolen nibbles, 

Fearing to draw attention...

Your fingers plunge deftly into wetness, I whimper...

You show no mercy, 

relentlessly bestowing pleasure, 

conjuring moans that blend with the mournful notes of the soprano on stage. 

Panting, wild-eyed, I grab your hand - 

We stumble out to the deserted corridor and into the first bathroom we find. 

I tear at your belt buckle, and pull your hardness into me as you shove me against the wall, sinking in deep...

Frayed

       around the edges

Chomping at the bit... 

Restless, searching. 

Seeking stimulation of the parts of my mind that fill me...

My pleasure center sits empty, like a rec center in the summer... Abandoned for bike rides and dips in the lake. 

I want to grab a stranger (or a friend) and run away into the night, start over, forget everything else exists... (except my family) 

I have it all, but I want more.

Frisson

I am a growly, impatient rainbow lately...

Ready to rumble, always. 

Tension bursts through to snappishness.

I feel it under the surface just simmering. 

Am I changing? Or just fed up?

I want more. 

And less. 

I want some quiet, some space. 

I want everything to be my way, or I will howl. 

I want to sleep long and well. 

Then maybe my body will allow my mind peace. 

I want to escape all the emotions that seem to run this show. 

I want to feel the un-name-able anger seep out of me, replaced by the joy that usually floats me along... 

I want! 

I want... 

I want.