One Month

Disclaimer: this feature photo is one I took at some vintage boutique where they sold everything rustic. I photographed that frame in hopes one day I would paint that scene — it had imbued me with such a tranquility the first time I glanced at it, but I never began the project. Of course I didn’t. We writers love talking those talks. 

It has been one month. 

Well,

Two days to a month– 

I miss him and my leggy heart is feeble

Oscillating with its lame arms hanging like string 

The month was thought to feel like a year but my spatial perception of time has felt nothing 

Yesterday, it speaks

He was only gone yesterday — but before yesterday no sensory motor functioning gears up in the recall center

It is as though a chunk of placid procedural memory, a non thought induced or selectively attended memory, has turned blue

Depleted of its energy of function 

I think it is grey now — gradually ripening and drying to soon break off 

And dissipate into the rest of the rust 

I wonder if other things are dying too 

Perhaps enough will stay until a Miracle 

My eyes have started wincing from an intensity — I’m not sure which side it presses from 

But I’m certain it’s stomping on all of my sides

Slowly breaking me inside — perhaps waiting for an implosion with nippy fingers and a concealed smile 

But this pain is auspicious somehow,

I think it is the dark before that dawn? Or whatever the expression —

I await more darkness then, I suppose

A deeper incision until the blade becomes a part of me

No longer armory 

I think this is a happy post,

It is a little straining to breathe and my larynx feels wrapped in sandpaper 

As it mixes prose yolk with a fork until it turns runny, 

Probably illegible

But definitely transparent — predictable 

Flatulent, I suppose. 

I’m a charlatan writer who rarely exhibits the emotions she pens

But tonight my fingers seemed to have tapped a buildup of vocabulary describing a petulant patience

Perhaps I should change the title of this post to that truth,

For once.

Maybe Your Soul Can Cry Too

Before you continue reading please consider the depth of this personal material I’ve decided to post online for the public to read. This is the one post I want neither compliments nor criticisms on. This is me producing something written inside of me, if that makes sense — I am only sharing a secret with you, so to speak. Continue reading “Maybe Your Soul Can Cry Too”