Brainstorms

PULL UP A CHAIR Pull up a chair and tell me your story, a friendship we will christen. For your tale and mine are intertwined if we take the time to listen. PRISM The facet of you that I see is the person I know you to be. You seemed clear on the surface, until sunlight cut through your angles, distinguishing tones I hadn’t noticed before. Something within bends the light, allowing me to see myself differently through you. And I wonder: When you look at me, do you see the self that I was or the person I am becoming? UNCONDITIONAL LOVE What would it take to give myself a break from the not good-enoughs, the voice inside that scoffs? What would you need to feel fully freed from the judgments you make on the actions you take? What would it feel like to love our Selves unconditionally? LIFE IN FULL BLOOM I built a fortress around my heart, day by day, year by year, brick by brick, until I couldn't feel what it was like to be me anymore. Moving through the rhythm of my days, blocking out the things I thought might wound me, but also holding in the fullest expression of myself for fear of failure, of rejection. I am trying to let down my armor, to let those guards who have been faithfully protecting the softest, most fragile part of me take a well-earned break from their duties. As cracks begin to form and rays of light penetrate to my core, I begin to feel more intensely: the joy of a connection with an unexpected friend, and the profound pain when that friend is in distress and reaches out for help. the exquisite ecstasy of allowing myself to really feel love and the fear that if I dive too deep I might drown. the exhilaration of turning a corner at the moment the sun dips below the horizon and seeing the cloud-streaked sky ablaze with color and patterns more magnificent than fireworks, jolting me awake as I remember. There is so much more to this life experience when I allow the emotion to filter through. The feelings overwhelm me and I hurry back to the security of my barricade like a startled turtle hiding in its shell. But slowly, patiently, I am building the courage to keep sticking out my neck, Gentle with myself, Knowing that one day soon I will learn to live life in full bloom. MORNING CUP Do you fill your cup with coffee? Or fill it up with tea? With all your mental anguish Or possibility? Do you pour it out for others Leaving nothing left for you? Steeped in good intentions, The result a bitter brew. Me, I fill my cup in nature, With laughter and good friends. By making time for myself And a present, mindful lens. If my cup is filled to brimming, And teeters on the brink, There's so much more I have to share As I offer you a drink. TAPESTRY Our lives are woven together in moments of chance encounters, smiles and laughter, gestures and touches. Moments so brief, they seemed like nothing. But moments add up, and moments have meaning, just as each stitch is an integral part of the whole. For even if two threads never cross again, they will forever be a part of the same tapestry. COCO CHANEL I can still smell my grandmother’s perfume on one of the sweaters that I kept. Fourteen years later and I remember lying on your bed in the mornings while you drank coffee and juice and smoked your morning cigarette. You found the streak in the back of my hair, a golden shimmer in a sea of brown that no one else had noticed. I can find it when the angle is right, and I feel like a little girl again. Sometimes I want to pick up the phone, to call you just to hear your voice respond to my question: “What’s new, Tia?” “New York, New Jersey, and New Mexico.” “And don’t forget New Haven.” We sat together in the hospital room. I held your hand as the doctor explained. I understood your reasons. Even as I wanted you to hold on, you knew that the time for healing had passed. You lay in your bed back home, and asked me to get you a pound of chocolate-covered marshmallows, of fresh bing cherries, and a carton of cigarettes. “I’ve done everything I ever wanted to do.” You said those words that echo in my core. I can still smell my grandmother’s perfume, reminding me that life is not about regrets. LAST KISS standing silent, neither wanting to say goodbye, he slowly stretched his hands to hold her face. they had kissed before, but never like this, a slow, tender kiss that melted her heart into his. she reached for him and caught his arms and held them, dug her fingers into their sides as she tried to hold on and felt him slipping away at the same time. and though a part of her wanted to cry, instead she smiled. because she knew that it was perfect, that life was moving forward and that the ending could only mean the beginning of something new. CHANGING THE WORLD Sometimes it feels like I pass my days lost in my head and a cup of tea. But secretly, quietly, magnificently, I am changing the world. WHAT IF? What if the only thing that mattered right now was being here together? A PIECE OF ME She said, “I wanna snuggle up with you, Mama.” I leaned against the headboard as she climbed on me, curled herself into a ball like a kitten, and laid her sweet, angel head upon my heart. I kissed her crown and let my lips linger in her soft curls for an extra moment. I bent my head to meet hers and rested it there until I heard her breathing, long and slow. Sleeping. I kissed her again and gently squeezed the tender body that not too long ago had been a part of mine. And we lay there as I watched the sky turn to dusk, knowing that she will always be a piece of me. And I, her. THE IN-BETWEEN I can feel the seasons changing and I don't like it. Not this time. I can feel it in the morning air on my arms urging me to turn back and grab a jacket. The chill feels too unfamiliar. I feel it in the gentle creases on my face that greet me each morning, the silver sparkles that are sprouting on my head. They surprise me every day. I feel it in the picture of my kids by my bed, frozen on a day several years ago that I can hardly remember. The leaves that fall on the road stir my imagination of ghosts and goblins and the circularity of time. But I'm not ready for hibernation. This year I want to hold on to the carefree frolic of summer, of breezy dresses and flip-flops, and days that bleed into night as the sun refuses to close his eyes even as the moon begins her evening climb. This year I want to stay in the in-between. RETURNING There is no such thing as too much time gone by to make a change, to make a difference, to reach out to an old friend. Today I took a new path. Snowball looked wistfully to left As I nudged her leash straight on. She kept looking back at me As if to ask, “Is this the way?” But I don’t know any more than she does. And so I wandered And wondered Whether I had gone astray, Where the road would lead this day, And when I would get to my destination. But my mental musings were interrupted By a tug on the leash. Snowball had stopped to investigate a new bush. So I paused too and looked up at the sky, Laced in grays and whites, And a small patch where the sun, With curious intention, Tried to glimpse through the veil. A flock of birds darted across the scene, Fifteen or twenty pairs of fluttering wings Moving with graceful determination. To whom are they returning? Will they be greeted with an open heart?