My Heart Speaks Here

One Realization, One Memory, One Story at a Time

heidibeth

heidibeth
Birthday
April 02
Bio
I'll tell you about my journey while I'm telling myself, rereading and saying aha! yes! and that is what it was like! Words have magic feet. I like to see them dance. The rest is to be kept quiet because it is sacred. How I watch people and love them never wondering if we'll agree. I love them because they are. I believe in words but they aren't everything. I'll take harsh speech and good deeds over eloquence and little helpful action in the world. There's shades of gray through everything which is one of many reasons I pray, "Thy Will not mine be done," trying not to cross my fingers but keep my eyes and heart open.

Heidibeth's Links

Salon.com
DECEMBER 2, 2012 8:11PM

a mystery

Rate: 1 Flag

A poem can be put off for only so long
before it begins to thin at the edges,
fade and seem to be about to float away,
until I wonder if there are any words left.

Waiting for certainty, holding out
for a long quiet afternoon
or at least the will to begin,
to wade into those waters,
camp my being in the place
where my heart is willing

to speak to me in more than shy glances.
I am patient, aware of the immensity of  
these last few months. Beautiful and lonely,

but not like waiting for a friend,
or hoping for a knock at the front door.
No, lonely like knowing it is no use
to long for what cannot be again.

It is a gentler thing, a weightier matter,
not likely to fade until years have passed.
No genies, no three wishes, and besides,
I would not ask for my mom to come back.

That she is not on earth is a mystery
I am unable to remember for very long
and yet I never forget. I just go on
day by day and at no particular time,
often unexpectedly, my heart spills
out of my eyes. At no particular time

and unexpectedly she'll answer
a question I have asked myself,
assure me I'm on the right road,
and remind me that I am not actually alone.

A poem can be put off for only so long
before it begins to breathe on its own,
and then there is nothing to do
but write through the tears.

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Reading the first two stanzas, I was like, yes, yes, yes - I so know what you mean - a great writerly issue. Then, I read on and realized this poem is about so much more than just inspiration and feeling. As always, I am so sorry for your loss, and so admire the way you contemplate and reflect on it, and always how your love for your mother shines through.