but what is time,
really?
just a convenient
way to measure
the complex
activity of our
hearts
and if that is all
that matters
(and I believe
that this is
so)
then perhaps we
should expand
our discussion of
time to include
other measures
like the number of times
my hair has brushed
softly across
your face
or how often your teeth have
closed on my
skin
or the numerous tracks
my tears have left
on your shoulders
or maybe even
(if we blow our minds wide open)
how salty those tears
tasted when our
lips joined to
intercept their fall
(because who says time
must be discussed in terms
that can be counted, perhaps
time is just another sense
like touch
and smell
and the sound of your laughter)

we have encompassed
rush
and reality
and burden
and bliss
and fullness
and emptiness
and have been each
of these things
to one another
and everything to one
another
and sometimes
(in the darkest moments)
nothing to one
another
we have swung
from understanding
to questioning
to accepting
to rejecting
to knowing
but somehow
we have always
swung back
together

we know
with the certainty
of two who
understand that love
is not always
enough
(not nearly enough)
that we don’t get a
guarantee
and we push against
cynicism and yearn for
blind optimism
because we want
to believe
in the notion of forever
the way we did
before

but I think sometimes
our doubts are
our biggest gifts
because they keep us working
keep us from our blindness
keep us from expecting too
much
and accepting too
little
keep us seeking
and striving
and stretching
beyond the surface
and into the depths
of us.
and most of all
they keep us saying
yes
yes to the insanity
and yes to the chaos
and yes to uncertainty
and even yes to ugliness and heartache
and resentment and dismay
(because those emotions
must be honored too)
and then yes to
laughter
and family
and future
and home

yes
yes to time
(in all it’s
complex measures)
yes to future
and what it brings
yes to not knowing
to working
to bliss and floating and melting
yes to yelling and crying and pouting
yes to ecstasy and agony
and all the in crazy
mixed up in between
and certainly
yes to trying

Yes to one year
Yes to us.

there was this one night
just last week
when i saw these
at trader joes

b. thought they were
b-o-r-i-n-g
(being all one colour
and pink at that)
and so tried to
direct my attention
to some
brightly coloured
daisies

but these
for some reason
in their softness and
strength
captured my attention
and so I bought them for
her

(and to make b. happy
we got the
daisies
too)

and much to my surprise
when we got home
we found that sometimes
love and flowers go
hand and hand
and there was
another bouquet
waiting for
us
(because she
wanted to give flowers
to her girls).

isn’t it nice
when things just
come together
like that?

and that night
when i watched
as her eyes closed
and her neck
arched
and the ecstasy coursed…
well
the closing
and the arching
and the ecstasy
they were all poems too

yesterday
when my words
burned and she
snapped and
went outside to work off the fire and
i sat silently on
the edge of our bed,
her voice
and the sound of the door sliding closed
and my silence
were also poems

of course,
the first time I saw her in glasses
was definitely poetry
as was the hot chai
(with vanilla and soy)
in the earth-brown mug
she made me before work this morning

and don’t forget the patterns our feet make
when we dance in the
living room.
that poem is one
of my
favorites.

you wouldn’t necessarily
think it but
the fact that we both hang our bras
on the handle of the
closet door
and the fact that
her virgo-self constantly needs to reorganize
the tupperware
are just as poetic as
the way she likes to watch
me when i read
or the feeling of her arms
around mine three nights
ago when i had used up
every last ounce
of myself taking care
of others and just
needed so badly
to have someone
take care of
me

and because all
those moments are
poetry
it is understandable
that sometimes they
flow from our hearts
like ink on smooth
paper
and other times they come in
fits and starts
and with lots
and lots
of deleting and
that sometimes we choose
all the wrong words
(but don’t quite realize
until the poem is
completed what
was not quite
right about them)
or that sometimes we begin
what we think
could be a
great poem
but it fizzles out somewhere
and never really comes
together and we want to crumple up
the paper
and use it to play
basketball
in the garbage can.

but the
thing
about poetry
is that
there are no rules
or at least
that you get to make
your own
(like the way
i cut up my
sentences however
i want
and don’t use
capitalization
even when spellcheck
gets upset
with me)

and so our
poems
can be what we want
them to be
(or not be)
and nobody can tell us
how many verses
or where the climax should occur
or get angry because our sentences run on
or that we’re not doing things
in the correct order
or edit it to fit into
some predetermined
form

and so
we’re free to
keep right on
making poems
when we make love
and when we fight
and when we wash dishes
and watch movies
and clean toilets
and when we dive deep
and when we release
and when we live.

and so its
okay that
this poem didn’t really
get finished
because I’m running late
and have to pick up
my wee girlie
at school
because
i don’t think
that this kind of
poem
ever really
ends.

it’s like
some nameless, faceless doctor
sat me down
in a cold white room
surrounded by windows
and said

here’s the deal…
i can either cut off
your right leg,
or your left

you get to choose
but one of them has
got to go
now

because your two legs
,though both strong
and beautiful
and necessary,
can’t balance your life anymore

so tell me which
right now please
because people are waiting
on your decision
(don’t you feel them watching you
through all those windows?)
and your legs are
quite anxious
(understandable really)
to know which one
will be left
behind

but you must know this
and know in the deepest part
of yourself
he said,
(as he looked me in the eye
and in the heart)
that even though you have the
power
to make this choice
(and not everyone does – so
consider yourself lucky)
you are still going
to feel
for the rest of your life
like a part of you is missing.

…..

don’t you see?
it’s been a year now
more than that really
since this all began
and being with her
is like finding home
and our bodies fit
and our hearts fit
and i fit
and this is right
and i love her
and us
and this life

truly.

but i still miss him
ache for him
ache for us
ache for our children
for our life and the unmet potential
and that third child
(i always pictured another little girl)
we were pretty sure we would
one day have

and when I see an elderly couple
eating together at a
restaurant
or a young family
together doing family things
i feel something inside me
crumple
and hear this sound bubble up
from deep
inside of me
this keening, primal, animalistic sound
of mourning
of grief
of anger
for what can never be
because we won’t ever be
again

and i won’t know what his hand feels
like in mine
when we are both eighty years old
and how can that not feel like a tragedy?
and after breaking that promise
i don’t know if any other promise
can ever count
really, really count
again

because i made a choice
that wasn’t a choice at all

and i have to accept
in the deepest part of myself
that always knows the truth
that although i belong is this life
there is a huge part of me that will always belong
to that life
to him

and to be perfectly honest,
i don’t quite know what
to do about that.

like before
when it came and stayed
-for months and months
that time-

-i think in thoughts tinged
with numbness-
don’t want to go
down that
rabbit hole again

talk to me
-i tell
her
wanting to hear
words to help me
sleep-
tell me things

i don’t tell
her
that i want
to take her words
her voice her
spirit
and stuff it all
inside
to fill the emptiness

what does it mean
now?
-i wonder-
something swirling
in space
but not yet visible
to me?

***

She
whispers, pulling
me close
and i roll onto
her
wanting to absorb
everything
i can and
then
i sleep.

***

i wake to
silky blonde hair
little fists
rubbing sleepy eyes
‘mommy i’m hungry’
and rise
leaving her asleep
in our bed.

our bed.
in our home.
so many changes
for me
and mine

oatmeal
-with honey
of course-
in a pink plastic bowl
made quickly
paper grabbed
to scrawl out
words that needed
release

and with release
comes
-as it so often
does-
relief from
pressure to figure
to understand
to know

and all that is
left is to
just be
just me
just words
on torn paper
on a dark wood table
next to a pink plastic
bowl
filled with oatmeal.

***

she comes up
behind me
in the kitchen
and i turn
to bury
my face in her
shoulder
finding
everything
in her
arms

i feel you today
-i say-
i know
-she says-
that’s because
last night you called for
me in your sleep
and i came to
you
crawled inside,
filled you
up

ah,
-i say-
thats why i feel
so different
this morning.

thanks.

Not now, when I feel broken on so many levels, more fragile and uncertain than ever before. I am struggling to rebuild my life, to create myself anew in a world where nothing looks the same. As the debris of my former life settle around me I must salvage some sense of myself from the fragments that remain of what once was, working up the courage to lift my eyes from the wreckage and move forward into the unknown of what will be.

I’ve got numerous holes to patch – love, friendship, and pure kick-ass determination being the mortar and putty of choice. I’m trying to shore up the weak sections of my spirit and heart so they can hold up to the inevitable struggles yet to come. I’m even choosing to leave some of the holes and cracks as they are, because I have learned along the way that sometimes remaining exposed and vulnerable is the only way I will ever encounter the truest and strongest parts of myself, and the only way to be sure I recognize and accept the gifts the universe sends my way.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
~Leonard Cohen

But I’m not doing any of this alone. Of course there are the beautiful spirits who swim in and out of my life; acting as friend, life-jacket, spiritual guide, babysitter, cookie-baker, muse, lighthouse, therapist and butt-kicking drill sergent as they are needed and as they are able. Without them, I don’t know where I’d be. But for the past five months there has also one constant presence in my days, in my thoughts, and deep in my heart. There is her.

The last time I built a love relationship I was 21, a young, optimistic and incredibly naive young woman just out of college. It was hard enough then; it always a challenge to connect yourself to another, to negotiate the complexities of together-life you hope to create. But eleven years ago I knew just a small part of myself and understood even less. Hindsight allows me to see that joining yourself to another is infinitely easier when you have barely begun to plumb the depths of the woman you will one day become.

There has been more than a decade of love and loss, of growth and change since S. decided to build a life together, and one year since we began the process of untangling and dismantling that life. I have faced myself, acknowledged my deepest needs and done my share of shadow-dwelling. And now I am building a new relationship, all this behind me, and so much yet to come. I have spent a year wading through the muck and mire of gain and loss and exhilaration and heartache, facing daily the impact of what I have done, living with the relentless onslaught of my guilt, his anger, their confusion, trying to not just survive but to ultimately thrive on this journey into fully formed woman…this all makes for an entirely different level of challenge.

Building a relationship in this space, where nothing is certain, where everything – the life I left behind and the life I am trying hard to envision and manifest – is raw and vulnerable and so damn shaky, when I struggle to maintain my faith in even the smallest things…it sometimes feels impossibly difficult. Back then I held, as so many of us do in the beginnings, a beautifully naive view of promises and commitment and forever. I had a simple, unwavering faith that love would always be enough. There was no way to predict that things would change to the extent no amount of love could have ever been sufficient.

Now I struggle to reach inside and find enough trust to carry me through the moment and into the future. I have to continually remind myself to release my worries and fears, to be true to myself and my needs, to honor my spirit and path and to do the same for her. I have to learn not just the beauty of compromise but also the necessity of not compromising my true self in the process, nor expecting that of her- so that we can create something real and lasting and true. I have to do all this when sometimes getting through the day without breaking down into tears and panic and gasping for breath while doubled over on the bathroom floor requires more strength than I can muster…hell yeah, it’s hard.

I know, with absolute conviction, that this whirlwind that has caught me and spun me into beautiful oblivion for the past five months has kept me from doing the vital self work that should have been my sole domain. This arching, spiraling, expansive force has distracted me from the focus that should have been placed on my children, from finding some sort of peaceful and respectful closure for my relationship with S., from doing the work, equally monotonous and terrifying to me, that is necessary to push forward. All these things would have, in so many ways, been easier, clearer, faster, smoother had she not entered my life.

But she came, and she’s here and there’s no way around that. She eased her way into my life, and my heart, so quickly that I know – on a level that transcends all logic – that we’ve known and loved one another before. It was immediate and unquestionable, so fast, so deep, so profound that from the first moment she touched me I was forever changed, and what you do with a love like that that but let it take you where it will?

Early on we both voiced nearly identical feelings that there was no choice, but instead a shared sense of a force beyond ourselves, of the inevitability of our togetherness, of an ability to feel one another regardless of time, space or distance. Our connection is soul-deep, infinite and fiercely real, I’d no more chance losing her than I would risk losing myself into half-existence again.

We are different, she and I, incredibly so. I wonder how we can make those differences mesh into the life we want to create together. And, with the cynicism of a girl who has watched her choices lead to the disintegration of a family, I wonder IF we can. I wonder why on earth she would want to stick with me right now, when I spend so much of the time an utter and complete emotional wreck*. I want to be independent and strong and accomplished for her, and right now I feel anything but. I question how to find necessary balance so that I can juggle all that needs to be juggled, without short-changing her and our future together.

But there are times when lose my grasp on the basic faith in what is and instead allow myself fall into the trap of doubt and worry about what might be. I forget to focus on that intangible and inexplicable connection that flows between us, and want to attach myself to some sort of non-existent guarantee. I give myself mental permission to sink into questioning and worrying and stressing about logistics and ‘what-if-might-not-how-can-i-possibly-trust-this? – pure crazy-making thoughts. I magnify our differences and distort them – fun house mirror style – until I create imaginary expanses between us. And then my self-protective mechanisms kick in (those developed over a lifetime of keeping myself safe by keeping others at a distance) and I begin to pull away, to shut her out. Self protective yes, but also self-defeating, because distance between us is the last thing I ever want.

Our love has been easy from the start, but our relationship has had challenges and roadblocks and stresses that ago far beyond what most people deal with in their first year as a couple. There have been fights, and tears, and hurt feelings, intense discussions into the wee hours of the morning as we attempt to navigate through this incredible complex situation. We have had to work, and work hard at times, to remain on solid ground, and it has required a level of commitment and faith that I don’t imagine normally exist at this phase of most relationships. In this way, our challenges also become our strength.

Yes, some things would have been easier had I not randomly connected with her that night back in February; if I had been sensible and stuck with my plan of staying away from relationships, if it has been possible to talk myself out of the feelings, deny the connection and kept myself separate from her. Yes indeed, some things would have been easier, but some things would have been infinitely harder and some of would have been damn near impossible.

Bottom line, we don’t get to choose when love finds us, our only responsibility to the universe is to open our hearts to receive it and to do our utmost to honor it for the gift that it is. Even when the timing is all off, even if the challenges of life would seem to suggest that the wisest choice would be to go it alone, even when the work of the relationship pulls focus from other things that need attention.

Without promises or guarantees or commitments, I know that what is between us is precious and needs to be nurtured and cherished and received with gratitude. Yes, from the outside it’s probably pretty clear that I don’t belong in a relationship, but from the inside it’s perfectly clear that, right now, in this moment, I do belong with her. I wouldn’t change a thing.

________________________________________________________

*(true story, dear readers, not a word of exaggeration, I’m a wee bit of a mess)

She asked me this recently, during a quiet moment together in bed. We fit so perfectly together that I tend to forget she hasn’t always been with me and doesn’t already know the answers to all the questions. My mind went blank, and I was surprised to find myself without a response to her query.

I pulled my eyes away from hers and looked down at our bodies, nestled together on my white sheets. My eyes ran across the smooth expanse of her back, her strong shoulders, the curve of her breasts, that perfectly formed space between her ribs and her hips. I lifted my gaze once again to her golden brown eyes, and as my hand traced a path along her arm I was in awe at the almost unreal softness of her skin. I laced my fingers with hers and was swept by a wave of deep contentment and a rush of exhilaration so interconnected that they felt like a single emotion.

This breathtaking sweetness and lightness of being – this is exactly what I wanted for so many years. It’s what I longed for, ached for, dreamed about, yearned to experience. Until recently I didn’t even let myself imagine that I could possibly live this, that it could ever be real. But it is real – aside from the births of my children, it is the most true and honest thing I have ever done.

Lying here like this with a woman – with this amazing, kind, soft, sweet, giving, wonderful woman (who somehow found me despite the fact that I wasn’t looking and was determined not to open myself to possibility) – this goes far beyond anything I could have imagined or dreamed or hoped for.

And so I found my answer,

“This. This is my fantasy.”

And I lay my head against her shoulder, closed my eyes and breathed in the utter perfection of moment.

Sometimes life just works out that way.

____________________________________________________

Apparently this one wanted to be a poem too:

you asked

you asked me for my fantasies
but how could I give you an answer
when
i look down your body
and mine
lying together
at the curve of your breast
and the sweet perfection of your skin
at the way your body curls
into mine
so I cannot tell where
one ends and the other begins
and it’s all curves and softness
and a tangle of limbs
atop a white down duvet
how could I think
of a daydream
when even the briefest touch
causes me to
lose myself
(and find myself)
every single time
and our connection
spirals across time
and space
and makes words unnecessary.
and even hurts and misunderstandings
just seem to swing us closer
and closer
to magic.
why would I spend time on
the imaginary
when even
the most ordinary
moments are
edged in brilliance
and sweetness and
beauty.

and of course that’s the answer
isn’t it?

you, my girl
this, my girl
us, my girl

it’s all fantasy
and it’s so very real.

sometimes life just works out that way.

you look over your shoulder
and see that someone
has come to talk to you
and although you have never seen her
before earlier that same night
(when you noticed her across the room
with her friends
and then again later dancing)
when you look in her eyes
you get that nagging feeling
that maybe, just maybe
you’ve already met.

or if that sounds rather too cheesy
to be believed,
at the very least
you want to prolong the moment
and see where this might lead
so before you leave
you seek her out
and give her your number
(because she had asked earlier
and you didn’t want the opportunity
to pass you by)

and when she puts her arm around you
and leans in close
to be heard over the pounding dance music
you feel a shiver of something…
that you cannot yet name
but that you know you want to explore
(you will later recognize it as the
deep contentment that you always
feel when you are with her)

and then
a few days later,
with no call or text
you enter another bar on the other side of town
(on a first date with another girl, as a matter of fact)
and you see her right away
against the bar, laughing with her friends
and your heart skips a beat.
(because hearts are never afraid to embrace
the cliché and predictable
the way that their owners often are)

and you know that
even though it seems like incredibly poor form
to approach her while your date awaits
that you will have to make contact
before you leave
(because serendipity is a wonderful thing
and such coincidences should never be ignored)
and so you go to the bar
for a drink of water
and you stand right next to her
(with a heightened awareness of
proximity that should likely
have served as a warning
of what was to come)

and you find out that she has your number
correctly in her phone
except for one missing digit
making it utterly useless as a means of connection
and so you add a very, very important number 4
(perhaps the most important number 4 ever,
only time will tell)
and leave with a sense that
something important might just be brewing.

and thus begins
a whirlwind
a chaotic
eyes closed, mind open
heart opening, opening, opening
totally consuming
kind of whirlwind
(so consuming that you’re only just now
coming up for air now to write about it)
and you find that within mere weeks
you (who was so sure she wanted nothing
to do with relationships, or exclusivity, or anything
that remotely sounded like commitment)
have lost your desire
to make new connections,
or even to further ones already begun.

and you are in that giddy place
that infatuation place
that crushing, blushing, so-crazy-into-her place
that preoccupies your thoughts
and steals your breath from time to time.
(because your lungs are not afraid
to embrace cliché or predictable either)
and you spent hours learning about each other
(except she didn’t have to learn anything really,
about your body because she knew all there was to know
from the very first moment of contact
in a deeper, more profound way
than perhaps anyone ever has).

and there was a point when you knew
without a doubt,
that you were in trouble here
and that this girl was not going to fit
nicely and neatly into your plans
for uncommitted dating and emotional detachment.
(because although it totally messed with your intention
to play the field,
you realized quickly that you had no idea
how to casually date her)

maybe it was when she asked
which flowers were your favorite
so she could surprise you with them
on some random moment
or maybe it was the texts she sent
that made you smile in the middle
of your craziest days
or maybe it was the way her golden brown eyes
seem to be able to see right into your soul
so that you communicate
from across the room without saying
a single word.

it might have also been
the kisses that held a million promises
or the way you could fall into a deep sleep in her arms
escaping the wretched insomnia
that had tortured you for months
or the way her touch made your back arch
off the bed
it might have been the emotions that arose
unbidden, in spite of the fact that this
was not the best timing
(for either of you really,
logistics are truly a bitch)
and in spite of all your attempts to deny them
and even though you didn’t trust their
reality or validity.

and although
it made no sense
and it was way too fast
and you feel like someone changed
all the plans
when you weren’t paying attention
you choose the freefall anyway
(as if you really had any choice in the matter)
you stopped fighting the inevitable
(although both of you made an impressive effort)
you accepted the risk
and embraced the exhilaration
and you closed your eyes to the safe
and the slow
and the sensible

and even though you always
laughed condescendingly at people
who (just a month or so after meeting)
want to be together all the time
and who walk around making goo-goo eyes at one another
and who are generally sickeningly sweet
in their total absorption in one another
you find yourself becoming one of them
in spite of yourself.
and yeah, you know that this is all rather ridiculous
and cheesy as hell,
and maybe a little bit annoying even
(because lets be honest,
when it’s somebody else, it usually is)
and that (of course) this might just be
the thrill of early days
and the passion and intensity might just burn out
when the haze of infatuation
finally lifts
you know this, but you really don’t care
(or, at the very least,
you choose not to give it any real attention)

you choose to ignore it all
because falling
is such
an achingly lovely
feeling
(especially when you know
you have a soft place
to land)