We spend our winters building hardened resistance Through the routine of shoulder hunching and thickening blood As gradually the filtered light that shifts Across wood panels and kitchen tiles Lingers into longer hours.
Without cognizance, we let fall Our experiences, as a dog Sheds its winter coat Throughout Each houseroom.
Leaving our Convictions as paper scraps to be Swept up with toast crumbs – and our tear drops for mopping.
Never knowing the Featherweight Of our skin Until it is.
And we stand Pondering The swiftness of Transformation.
I dreamt of a ghost beyond my window, Standing at the edge of my yard, Translucent below the marble moon.
She stood erect beneath the formidable night sky. With an upward tilt of her head, hair grazing her waist, She stared the bald moon back with her vehement gaze.
When I opened my own eyes, I was under the sky. Color in my cheeks and blood in my veins, Dewy-grass feet firmly in the dirt.
And so I walked inside to dream of a blank sky. Not unlike the blackboards the morning of Sunday school: Washed clean, ready and inviting.
For so many weeks, months, I felt haunted. Everywhere I went, every experience, was a reminder of what had happened. That I was not who I used to be and I was not who I wanted to be. That I had made mistakes and simply did not measure up. I was empty.
I don’t know exactly when it happened or how it happened, but I felt life breathed back into me, or maybe I breathed it into myself. Perhaps it was simply that enough time had passed. (And perhaps I had just written enough poems).
It is funny how simple things can represent complete opposites depending on the experiences occupying our headspace. The moon, for example, represented something that I felt saw right through me, something that followed me no matter where I went. It was watching me and I could not escape it. Now I am again able to look at it with a sense of wonder.