"eli, eli, lema sabachthani?"
​
i'm having trouble finding
words today; instead of
happiness, rest or peace, i am
disheartened, discouraged, disillusioned
and beneath all that restlessness.... i am angry.

it is father's day, and so
we send cards and
grill steaks to
celebrate our
father figures, but
what does that mean...
connectedness,
relationship,
belonging?
morality and
courage and
heroism?
stability,
strength,
safety?
i know no such
connection and i have
no such thread of identity; furthermore
my attempts to write
a better story have
failed miserably, and
i listen to the same goddamn
skip in the broken record
(over and over and over) as i
watch my children coming up.

i write these words for
the father-failures that have
filled not my soul with flowers, but
my bottle with tears.
the child in me is
angry at the father who
drove away under false pretenses and
didn't return;
the adolescent in me is
angry for the new family that was
(and is) worthy of
his time and
his affection and
his presence;
the naive wife in me still
holds him responsible for
the broken love that
she believe(s/d) was all that
she deserved;
the mama in me watches
my children and wonders how he could just
(dis)miss those important moments and
all of the priceless nuances in between.

i am hurt and angry
with you and
with him and
with all of them that
have followed in
your sacred steps:
loving
and
leaving.

you have seen my need and then
walked away
you have seen my tears and
you didn't stay
i have reached for you, but you
always let go, and so
he let go and now
they always
(unapologetically)
let go...
and now the grown up girl
doesn't begin to know
why she is broken and
so full of your sins and
when to build bridges
instead of a fence;
where she begins and
wherever she ends and
how to know love and
how to just be friends;
why did you leave me with
no voice or defense
and now your silence is
the greatest offense.

why wasn't i worth staying and
when did you decide that
they were the chosen and
we were left outside?
where grace met providence
the girl realized that
the father faithful had died.
where are the keys that
release yesterday?  to
let the girl become the woman that
is no longer enslaved to
the mud and the blood of
the sins of a man?
how is the heart healed so
the orphaned child can
believe in a father that
wants to provide, to
protect and keep promises and
stand by her side, be
the values she seeks and
the mirror of her worth; as
the image of heaven and
the shelter of earth;
does it even exist, this
idea of love?
all that she knows is
she was never enough.

(is she ever enough?)

on this father's day
i do not know how to
commemorate the loss I feel for
the fathers fiction that
have come and gone;
there is no roast in the oven and
no quilt on the lawn; there will be
no superfluous text and
no disingenuous platitude of
paternal accolades.
i can only press into the sadness and
continue the orphan's lonely journey on
to the home she has yet to find; however
i take hope in the blank pages and
i color the margins with
my own prisms of
love and safety and courage; and
i shall leave a trail of breadcrumbs so that
when these little ones of my own
someday go in search of
their own father fantasies
they perhaps have an
easier path to walk
than i.

"eli, eli, lema sabachthani?"
father, why have you forsaken me?
​
maybe in eternity, i will then understand
the human condition and
the sovereign hand that
writes hope and writes healing
from the pages torn out
and sings melodies of love over
the requiem of doubt...
let the sun ever rise on my
dark, cloudy days and let
comfort arise from the
shadowy grace of
the humanness of sadness and
the kindness of the lathe that
pushes me on toward
the truer father faith.

i have dreamed of
you taking me back;
you said i was
your wildflower in the desert
your light in the dark
your hope in the sadness
but
you always ran for the desert
danced in the darkness
swam in your sadness until
you drowned.

i have plead that you would
take me back
hold me tight
love me always
but
you have led me on
read my song
done me wrong.

you said that I had
stars in my eyes when
i looked at you
grace in my arms when
i took to you
faith in my heart when
i forsook the truth
but

i didn't know that you had
eyes for her when
you looked at me
memories of her when
you took to me
love for her when
you said that
you loved
me.

so now I am taking me back;
the smell of my skin and
the spark in my eyes,
the light of my soul and
the tireless tries to
reach you, to
heal you, to
love you so well, to
teach you the
hope that would
lessen your hell.

i'm taking my flowers and
taking my seeds
i'm taking the lockets and
taking the keys
i'm taking the kindness and
taking the peace
i'm taking back all of
the pieces of me.

it's amazing how
pain turned love into
anger in the time that
two tears fell from
these blue eyes
(and just like that
she was gone).

how dare you let
me love you for
so long while you
masqueraded me as her
i hate you for
disrespecting me and
taking advantage of my
naive and stupid affection
for you.

who the fuck do you think you are?
​
today is the day that
i take me back;
these are the last words
i will ever
write for
you.

ten saturdays left until
i drive the firstborn to
a faraway school in
a faraway city.
ten saturdays left of
early morning coffee and
late night laughter; of
outdoor adventures and
inside jokes.
she was born on
a sunday, and we have since had
nine hundred and fifty-eight weeks of
learning and loving and leaving, and
now there are but
ten saturdays left.

i’m never gonna love you less
even though you wanna forget
the way our demons dance and undress
but i’m never gonna love you less
than i do right now.

do you ever remember that
i’ve seen your very soul in the flesh
i’ve heard your midnight sins confessed
but i’m never gonna love you less
than i do right now.
(right now)

walk along the weakest wire
throw around your darkest mire
light up all your hottest fire
but i’m never gonna love you less
than i do right now.

for your safe shelter in the day of unrest
for your kind shoulder in life’s tangled mess
for wisdom’s shadow and the friendship blessed
i’m never gonna love you less
than i do right now.

so pour a tall one and drink the pain away
so pull the shades and dream the night away
so raise those fists and fight the breaking day
‘cause i’m never gonna love you less
than i do right now.
(right now)
​
you will always have a candle lit
in the window of my soul
if you need a light to lead you back
a flame to warm the cold
the sacred space where old souls meet
as the pacific sun drops down
cause i’m never gonna love you less
than i do right now.
(right now)

nobody told me.

I watch friends celebrate the
two pink lines and
rearrange their rooms and
their lives for
the induction of
new life
but nobody tells them that
research on breathing and
bradley methods is all
well and good,
preparation for dilation and
delivery is useful and helpful, but
what comes next and then next and
then next after that?

nobody told me
what to expect when my
child says that
the world is not
a safe place anymore, that
she feels unloved and unwanted, that
she wishes she were
never born
i hold her and
comfort her with words that
spill from an empty well.

i watch families celebrate the
milestones that give
scrapbooks and yearbooks
their stories to tell,
the academic and athletic years
the trophy and certificate years as
children pass through the
rippling and dancing creek
of childhood,

but nobody tells them
about the heartbreak years and
the deception years, the
wading years and the
drowning years;
deep waters of fear and
doubt, of stumbling feet and
fumbling hearts
of weakened resolve and
the worrying furrows that
burrow into your brow, your
heavy-laden back,
the breaking of
your very being.

nobody told me.

these children,
bone of my bone and
blood of my soul;
i pretend to carry the rod
of discipline and the staff of
truth while knowing that they
can crush me with
their words
their wills
the wily missteps of their
invincible youth

they can.
they will.
they do.

nobody told me that
the sleeplessness of
infancy and the
patience required of
toddlers are but the
footpaths we meander as
we train for the great
climb and eventual summit
of everest (and each
child is their very
own mountain, making
some of us triathletes as we
simultaneously surmount
multiple heights with
diverse terrains amidst
various weather systems)...

why do we only
share the pictures with
happy faces and only
tell the stories with
happy endings?
how many distended hearts
suffer through the struggles of
relationship alone because of
pride and guilt and
disappointment felt,
hopes that have died and
fears realized, for which we
withdraw and withhold the
broken years and the
hurting years and the
hidden truths about
divergent choice, your
child's (my child's!)
intrinsic right
to be wrong,
to do wrong.

we once chose, and
so they do the same, but
it is the missteps that
mirror our own failures and
regrets that pierce our
hearts with the
sharpest blade.

and so another sun sets and
i crawl into this lonely bed as
tears fall from honest eyes (for
the truth has a way of
breaking our delusions and
dilutions of how wistful and
watery we wished
life to be) and
i am reminded that
the world is not
a safe place anymore, that
these children (bone of
my bone and
blood of my soul!) concern
themselves not with
whether i feel
unloved or unwanted, that
some days, i too perhaps wish
that i were
never born.
​
i long to be held and
find a safe comfort, but
tonight i find only
empty words drawn from
an empty well.

i see your face and
i can’t not utter
the truth with
a gasp
“god, i love you”

i’ve thought it as you
kissed me in the rain
i knew it as i ran my fingers
across the braille of your soul
i’ve whispered it
in your ear, and
i’ve screamed it
into your pillow, and
you would give me that smile, and
write me your poetry, and
pull me in close to
breathe me in, but

i told you the last time and
you looked down and away
and hung up

(why am i so fucked that
i love you so recklessly)

for you don’t love me anymore
maybe you never did
maybe it was just
the way i look(ed) at you
the way my words nest(ed) safely
against the wounds of
your soul
the way my skin melt(ed)
under your fingertips

and now the silence screams
that you’ve moved on
and i must (MUST) find a way
to unlove you

yet i see your face and
i can’t not utter
the truth with
a gasp
“god, i still love you”

it would be an act of
kindness for you to just
tell me that you’re done
that you let go of me
that you’ve unloved me
because i can’t seem to
let go of you, but
this broken dance is
breaking me

i could have kissed you
under the moonlight
every evening of forever;
i would have walked the fence
every morning picking
dandelions to put by
the coffee pot;
i wanted to carry your sacred stories
for always as we wrote
new ones for all of our
together tomorrows
but

my key no longer
fits the lock on your door, and
now i must learn
to unlove you.

i’m sorry
i wish i could be
better
right
yours
i wish this love didn't
have me apologizing for
who i am but
...i still do
and so i must
unlove you so that
i may remember to
love myself.
​
(you will always be
my favorite)

i hate this broken world, but
i love the earthy aroma of
the soil broken open
in the spring
i love the reflection of
the sun waltzing across
the atlantic waves breaking
against the shore
i love the chorus of
the birds breaking the
silence of night with
their hopeful song.

i hate this broken life, but
i love the comfort of
familiar music that wraps its
melodies around
the lonely heart
i love the constant flow of
the stream from its
secret source, washing over
carrying away (carrying on)
i love the safety of
baby kisses and toddler love that
carry no sword or dagger.
​
a steamy mist rises
off the water as
a smoky veil descends
upon the mountains,
the magic and the mystery of
both the seen and unseen
likewise, i must learn to love
the clouds in my eyes that
defuse the light
the reasons why
the path beyond...
and so too i must carry on.

​i am so tired
(not exhausted, but
weary) with
sixty-three lists that
keep me from doing what
i need to do
i want to do
i was made to do.

i am frustrated with these
sixty-three emotions that
overcome me, haunt me, hang me, but
are not peace
are not joy
are not productivity
are not satisfaction with
what I was made to
do (to be).

i am buried beneath
regret and doubt
yesterday and tomorrow
push and pull
coffee and alcohol
(all the same damn enemies, of
each other, of my soul).

some days (most days)
death can not
come soon enough
my son’s fingers trace my lines like
the yellow daffodils that
line the dirty interstates
sunlit silhouettes cast
across morning walls
across forest trails
across his face and
i touch his delicate skin wondering if
these dancing specks of light are
our candlelit glimpse across a
a smoky room searching for
the very face of God.

i need him even
when i am
angry
(with him)

every breath is
pollution in my lungs and
every hope is
framed in broken glass
every smile is a reminder of
love that will one day let go and
every tear is
fire on this
aging human skin.

i am bored with
sixty-three simple minds and
i am scornful of
sixty-three churches that
waste their words and
waste my time
i am lost among
sixty-three wrong turns and
i am sad and sober after
sixty-three glasses of
the king’s wine that
never numb the pain
never fill the emptiness
never unravel the disconnect between
this reality and
home.
​
i just want to
go home
but instead there are
sixty-three doors
without keys.

i forget to forget the way
your hair smells and
your eyes shine and
your hand feels in mine.
i forget to forget the way
your skin tastes and
your mouth tastes and
your words taste as
they dissolve in my spirit.

i forget to forget the way your
chest rises and falls
our words exchanged
finding their way into
the pockets of our souls to
bloom in some other
unexpected moment.

i forget to forget…

but i forget to remember this
wrenching in my chest
when you love me and
leave me to fade,
to wither,
to thirst for you with no relief.

i forget to forget
the happy ding-ding of
love notes sent to my soul, your
your gaze in my direction, and instead
remember the disappointing weight of
sadness as the silence then
stretches out and
stretches out (and
stretches out).

i forget to remember the tears and the loss
my heart that you toss
over your shoulder and
onto the curb
i forget to remember the break and the burn
and why I should have learned
to forget your blue eyes and
your look-away smile
to forget your still strength and
your fears reconciled
to forget the time that you
said I was the best thing that
ever happened to you
that I was worthy of your time and
your attention, and
your affection.

to forget the mirage of
what seemed to true
forget the belief in the
man that i knew
rhymed words and spilled ink are
worth nothing, it seems, if
the only gestures of love
come in hashtags and links
this time i must try to
remember to forget this imaginary love, and
instead remember to
remember the way
this always turns out for me.

alone
alone
alone
alone.
​
alone, and reading spilled thoughts of
someone i (maybe) knew
and the (almost) love that
you (perhaps) dreamed
of you and me
and the magic that
never
came
to
be.

within the symbiotic space of
your heartbeat and mine
all secrets are held
all surety is found

someday you will ask hard questions
i will stumble on the answers and
i will stammer on the truth 
but
i will always be safe for you

within the sacred waters of
mother and son, we swim
all worries washed away
all wounds healed in
the salty ebb and flow of grace

someday you will wander from my side
i will wipe my eyes and
i will hold my tongue and
my arms will always be open
i will always be a haven for you

within the tainted years of
our human existence
we love and we lose
we change and we choose
we build and we break
we give and we take
but you will always belong to me and
i will always be yours
you will always light my soul and
i will always guard yours

let me see you fly for you are free, and
i will always ensure
that your childhood sings
the songs of hope and love and joy
despite the shadows at the door
when the truth becomes
too much to bear
i will carry it for you
I will carry you through
i will still carry you, my dear
i will always carry you.
​
within the symbiotic space of
mother and son
let me be a safe place for you.