I’m the sort who will take you at your word. If you say yes to me, I believe you mean yes. If I think you aren’t arriving at your yes at 100%, I might question you about it until you land comfortably in your decision. In my book, a resolute no is much more appreciated than a half-hearted yes.
I’m not interested in: I should’s, have-to’s, uh-huh’s, or nah’s. I’m interested in:
to speak the truth directly, at 100%, with lovingkindness?
May I kneel here now
your eyes aglow with starlight
the world awaits.
i am the cold dawn
bare branches thrilled and quaking
awaiting your breath.
Lately I’ve been feeling unusually content. I told Hugh as much when he took me to a Mexican restaurant last weekend. Normally, I enjoy my food, but am conscientious about calories and health. This time was different.
“Do you have any idea why I’ve primarily been wearing dresses and skirts the past few months?” I ask.
“No idea,” he says.
“Well, I’ve gained a few extra pounds, and I’m not willing to buy pants that fit,” I confess.
“And?” he looks at me with those eyes, expecting a dissertation on the philosophy of feminine fashion.
“And frankly, I don’t care. I feel perfectly fine.” I scoop a dollop of guacamole onto my fajita, and add sour cream for good looks.
“You are fine,” he jokes. “And your curves are great.”
That’s nice and all, but I sincerely don’t care what he thinks at the moment because I feel so good. I sit there on the lumpy bench in our modest town, and sense this wakeless, succulent, interior self-acceptance in a way I’ve never felt. Never have I savored my food so wholly as in that moment.
What smells so good in here? Hugh asks as he walks into our bedroom
today after work, making his way to me through piles of books
by my bedside and kissing me on the forehead.
I return the kiss and shrug.
“Must be my little bloom,” he says, pulling the satin
covers snug around my neck and closing the blinds
to shade me from the sun.
No knowledge of why his wife is in bed at 5:30pm.
No critique. No concern about dinner or disarray.
Just consideration and care for me.
And oh how I love him.
My husband with his never-ending tenderness.
My husband with the sweetest of eyes.
My husband whose constant attention
is on the needs of others always. Always.
May the fragrance of our love
bloom and grow forever, mon ami.
Just because my husband irons and cooks,
leaves me love notes every other day,
and sends me on week-long vacations,
doesn’t mean i’m always up
for a swing in the park or afternoon tea.
Just because i dumped my baggage
into the pitch of night and now bathe
under a star studded sky
doesn’t mean a cartwheel and a smile
are always in order.
Just because you burnt your toast,
lost your cat in the fire,
and broke-up with your boyfriend
all on the same day,
doesn’t mean I have to fix it.
Though I’ll probably want to.
Just because I can hear flowers sing,
touch lightning with my tongue,
smell the rising apocalypse and
read your soul with a looking glass
doesn’t mean i’m not meant for this place.
It just means sometimes I am quiet-
the ears of my heart riveted
to humming orchids
as I sit in my Amish rocker
convincing myself to stay.
No thoughts tonight. No words.
Where is my brain? Really now.
Perhaps it is tumbling between
little girl leotards, dresses,
and swimsuits in the dryer next
to me. Could it be sprouting
in the window with Lily’s
preschool bean and sunflower plant?
Or tossed in the jumbled basket of
baby dolls, rock collections, and
science experiments? Maybe it got
dissected in the dishwasher disposal
along with the day’s orange rinds
and leftover seafood salad. Seriously,
I want my brain back. I want to think
intelligent thoughts again. I want to
have something to say to Hugh when he
comes home, other than how happy I am
the dog didn’t chew our sprinkler cords
again, or how many loads of laundry
remain to be washed.
I have nothing to say tonight
my words quiet as a farm horse.
It’s been a full day.
Ancient Greece, pink floral
apron, bread rising in a
sunny window, yarn doll,
picnic on the grass with my
babies, ballet lessons, bean
soup from scratch, a single hug
from Hugh, twenty girl craft party,
an a-ha that what I most desire
I already have.
I should be doing something
besides sitting here in my
yoga pants sipping hot cocoa
American Idol in the background
wishing wisdom would rise to
the surface like marshmallows
in a sea of sweet. maybe i should
fly to the moon then i’d see myself
more clearly a little speck, a flint,
a shimmering orb awaiting the next
bounce from the end of a child’s
bubble wand a firefly buzzing in
a jar a hopscotch toss slid
across hot pavement a silver
skipping stone its ripples dancing
down rivers like a vibrating musical
note. bring the wings, the rockets,
i’m outta here.
© 2016 Hello Quiet.