Watching Love
I.
they stand without space
so close the heat melds
their chests into one
my mind wields the memory
as if i am standing in her body
my chest in pain as it remembers
once i was her
II.
they kiss the force molding
a new body
a figure that impedes the work of angelo
i remember molding
the length of her body
into mine
once i was him
III.
she lays in the hospital bed
squeezing my hand
crying as the nurse fishes
for the vein weeding through
to keep the next heart beat
her heart is mine
and it doesn't want to stay
IV.
his body bends in
curves without muscles
any touch is torture
but his eyes say "touch me"
his body is mine
and it doesn't want to love
V.
that stare
that lingering look
that finger stroking longingly up the arm
those locking legs
aching to feel more
once we were free
I.
they stand without space
so close the heat melds
their chests into one
my mind wields the memory
as if i am standing in her body
my chest in pain as it remembers
once i was her
II.
they kiss the force molding
a new body
a figure that impedes the work of angelo
i remember molding
the length of her body
into mine
once i was him
III.
she lays in the hospital bed
squeezing my hand
crying as the nurse fishes
for the vein weeding through
to keep the next heart beat
her heart is mine
and it doesn't want to stay
IV.
his body bends in
curves without muscles
any touch is torture
but his eyes say "touch me"
his body is mine
and it doesn't want to love
V.
that stare
that lingering look
that finger stroking longingly up the arm
those locking legs
aching to feel more
once we were free
i cannot touch that which i love
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinity one inch from the ledge.
tell me, how can a body love
when it doesn't respond;
tell me, how can a heart express
what it cannot touch?
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinitely one inch from the ledge.
he looks at me with puppy eyes:
his face puffed by pain,
his body curling in,
his sense of touch a torture chamber.
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinity one inch from the ledge.
i see my little girl wrestling
with her love, and feel
the want buried inside crawl up me,
i laugh to keep from reaching out--
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinity one inch from the ledge.
she is me; he is him: at night
i dream he is there and so am i
in our perfect bodies
made for fun and love.
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinity one inch from the ledge.
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinity one inch from the ledge.
tell me, how can a body love
when it doesn't respond;
tell me, how can a heart express
what it cannot touch?
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinitely one inch from the ledge.
he looks at me with puppy eyes:
his face puffed by pain,
his body curling in,
his sense of touch a torture chamber.
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinity one inch from the ledge.
i see my little girl wrestling
with her love, and feel
the want buried inside crawl up me,
i laugh to keep from reaching out--
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinity one inch from the ledge.
she is me; he is him: at night
i dream he is there and so am i
in our perfect bodies
made for fun and love.
yesterday only seemed one foot behind
with tomorrow infinitely away.
nowadays the footage has become miles,
and infinity one inch from the ledge.
i must keep smiling, even through these tears
i must keep smiling, even through these tears
gathered in my eyes. they cannot fall,
not tonight, not yesterday or tomorrow.
sadness is all I have
to hold as he falls
away from me.
buried deep is the boy who pinned me down,
licked my face;
buried deep is the boy who wrapped my arms
about my chest, held me tight
to bite my neck.
i must keep smiling, even with the pain
gathered in my chest. it cannot subside,
not tonight, not yesterday or tomorrow.
sadness is all I have
to hold as he falls
away from me.
And then, when the first serious winter nastiness came, this poem came about. No, this poem isn't about the absence of physical closeness, but about the beauty I saw in what the ice storm left, a beauty that can destroy--uproot trees, break limbs that destroy items below, such as house and car, and cause accidents on foot or on tire--as well as a beauty that can create fun--ice skating, snow boarding, building ice forts or other artsy stuff, and so forth. Something that I haven't been able to do without force, see the beauty and describe it, even with the three grandchildren that were born this year--although I had tears of happiness when I saw my second grandson born (I actually was there for the birth!). This poem wrote itself for the most part, and I worked with what the pen gave me, attempting to get a rhythm and sound to match what I saw. I believe the poems captures the ice that stayed around for two whole days on everything.
i must keep smiling, even through these tears
gathered in my eyes. they cannot fall,
not tonight, not yesterday or tomorrow.
sadness is all I have
to hold as he falls
away from me.
buried deep is the boy who pinned me down,
licked my face;
buried deep is the boy who wrapped my arms
about my chest, held me tight
to bite my neck.
i must keep smiling, even with the pain
gathered in my chest. it cannot subside,
not tonight, not yesterday or tomorrow.
sadness is all I have
to hold as he falls
away from me.
And then, when the first serious winter nastiness came, this poem came about. No, this poem isn't about the absence of physical closeness, but about the beauty I saw in what the ice storm left, a beauty that can destroy--uproot trees, break limbs that destroy items below, such as house and car, and cause accidents on foot or on tire--as well as a beauty that can create fun--ice skating, snow boarding, building ice forts or other artsy stuff, and so forth. Something that I haven't been able to do without force, see the beauty and describe it, even with the three grandchildren that were born this year--although I had tears of happiness when I saw my second grandson born (I actually was there for the birth!). This poem wrote itself for the most part, and I worked with what the pen gave me, attempting to get a rhythm and sound to match what I saw. I believe the poems captures the ice that stayed around for two whole days on everything.
Bitter Sweet
A clear sheet falls with the night
lighting the midnight with shivers
of glistening glass
Morning awakens the encased sleeping life
with chimes and brass drums
singing the wind's song
Eyes watch the sun rays dance
into and off the layers of ice
not yet fallen to earth
A clear sheet falls with the night
lighting the midnight with shivers
of glistening glass
Morning awakens the encased sleeping life
with chimes and brass drums
singing the wind's song
Eyes watch the sun rays dance
into and off the layers of ice
not yet fallen to earth
This blog isn't about my poetry, but the destruction of keeping myself closed off to deal with my husband's disability kept me from doing what I enjoyed most--writing. Writing is my therapy, and I was too afraid to face the truth, the hurt that I knew would be found in the truth, the truth that my husband's body is leaving before his mind is ready to go, before his dreams can be met, not only leaving him, but leaving me . . . yes me! It's like the man who walks out the door and takes everything with him, everything, even your livelihood. This is when you realize how much he is a part of you, how much of his every being is blended into you! In a way, the nature poem expresses the meshing of all life whether we realize it or not.
My husband is a great part of my life, more than I ever wanted to admit. I do have a life outside of "him," but that is only part of me. Now I understand why a husband or wife dies shortly after the other departs; and I understand how divorces happen when one becomes disabled--but, on the other hand, some marriages become much stronger. Society is less bombarded with the marriage that succeeds, less bombarded with the marriage that strengthens with adversity.
I'll admit, this is rough. I want so much from him: I want him to do everything possible to make himself mobile, to make his body work, and forget the fear and pain that comes with doing so. He has gone through physical therapy some time ago, and the physical therapy didn't help much. Because of this, he refuses to attempt a massage therapy for the muscles; plus, the pain he has from the fibromynolgia also keeps him from attempting it. What do I now? I do know that some therapy will be painful, but in the long run the body will be all the better for it: all that needs to be done is figuring out what is best and sticking to it. I realize he doesn't want to experiment because of the pain or making something else worse, such as woresening the disc in his back.
I guess this is a good time to explain a little about his disability. He has several things going on: fibromynolgia, some form of arthritis that none of the doctors can identifying completely, bulging disc, degenerate spine (I think that is what it is called), a rotating tailbone--this one I do understand! after I took a couple of tumbles and had to have physical therapy (which I must deep up with on my own to keep my hip and lower back from being in great pain), spurs that are appearing in the knees and ankles, old injuries that can no longer sustain walking, and . . . , I now there is something else. At one point, the doctors thought of MS, but have not furthered that thought, as if they don't want to waste time. He hasn't insisted on further testing, but I think about it often. Even if "I" pushed for the testing, would the insurance cover it?
That brings up another issue that infuriates me--the insurance being in control of what a doctor deems best, or a doctor believes may find the initial cause. One doctor wanted my husband to go down to IU for some unusual battery of test--experimental test--to see if anything further could be determined. Insurance denied. Experimental seems to be a "bad" word. But what about the quality of life becoming better?
Yeap, I jumped from a personal need I have for my husband to dealing with medical situations and insurances. Believe me, they all tie in together! It sounds a little silly to me, but outside forces appear to have more control over what is going to happen and what is happening to my husband and I, than what we have right now.
My husband is a great part of my life, more than I ever wanted to admit. I do have a life outside of "him," but that is only part of me. Now I understand why a husband or wife dies shortly after the other departs; and I understand how divorces happen when one becomes disabled--but, on the other hand, some marriages become much stronger. Society is less bombarded with the marriage that succeeds, less bombarded with the marriage that strengthens with adversity.
I'll admit, this is rough. I want so much from him: I want him to do everything possible to make himself mobile, to make his body work, and forget the fear and pain that comes with doing so. He has gone through physical therapy some time ago, and the physical therapy didn't help much. Because of this, he refuses to attempt a massage therapy for the muscles; plus, the pain he has from the fibromynolgia also keeps him from attempting it. What do I now? I do know that some therapy will be painful, but in the long run the body will be all the better for it: all that needs to be done is figuring out what is best and sticking to it. I realize he doesn't want to experiment because of the pain or making something else worse, such as woresening the disc in his back.
I guess this is a good time to explain a little about his disability. He has several things going on: fibromynolgia, some form of arthritis that none of the doctors can identifying completely, bulging disc, degenerate spine (I think that is what it is called), a rotating tailbone--this one I do understand! after I took a couple of tumbles and had to have physical therapy (which I must deep up with on my own to keep my hip and lower back from being in great pain), spurs that are appearing in the knees and ankles, old injuries that can no longer sustain walking, and . . . , I now there is something else. At one point, the doctors thought of MS, but have not furthered that thought, as if they don't want to waste time. He hasn't insisted on further testing, but I think about it often. Even if "I" pushed for the testing, would the insurance cover it?
That brings up another issue that infuriates me--the insurance being in control of what a doctor deems best, or a doctor believes may find the initial cause. One doctor wanted my husband to go down to IU for some unusual battery of test--experimental test--to see if anything further could be determined. Insurance denied. Experimental seems to be a "bad" word. But what about the quality of life becoming better?
Yeap, I jumped from a personal need I have for my husband to dealing with medical situations and insurances. Believe me, they all tie in together! It sounds a little silly to me, but outside forces appear to have more control over what is going to happen and what is happening to my husband and I, than what we have right now.
Your poems are very moving. That is all of the post I have read so far. I had to stop and let them settle in before I could go on.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing these poems.
ReplyDeleteMeg
It is clear that you are in the midst of difficult times. Be thankful for the poetry you have to share and eliminate it by sharing. I know how hard life is. Understand that you are not alone, and continue to educate us about what it's like to be a mother, a wife, and that girl in your poems.
ReplyDelete