works of art and works in progress
book club
For our December book club, we have a tradition of doing something other than reading a regular book. Last year, we shared children's books. This year, we decided to each bring poems to share. I shared some of my own and a piece by June Jordan. Except for the latest piece about Candace, in a way, they were all remnants of the relationship past - except they are no longer solely painful reminders. Like the painting that returned to my wall years after the relationship ended, they are artifacts earned, molded, and representative of me. They are worth keeping, learning from, and sharing.
Here's a piece I wrote when I was coming out of my marriage/depression/closet:
thinning ice
thinking about the unspoken, vacant tunnels
of unsaid, swelling with indecision
I watched the earth breath snow
across my windshield for miles
I watched the child I was afraid to conceive
inch across the carpet
I watched my oldest son’s hair
branch out into the wilderness
I watched the ice thin
and traced each crack to its silent conclusion
I watched the sleeping begin to dream again
and I closed my eyes, because I wanted to see it, too
regularly scheduled programming
Candace says that she wants me to be with her all the time. She hates the house I am seeing behind her back.
We are scheduled for couples' counseling in early January.
For our December book club, we have a tradition of doing something other than reading a regular book. Last year, we shared children's books. This year, we decided to each bring poems to share. I shared some of my own and a piece by June Jordan. Except for the latest piece about Candace, in a way, they were all remnants of the relationship past - except they are no longer solely painful reminders. Like the painting that returned to my wall years after the relationship ended, they are artifacts earned, molded, and representative of me. They are worth keeping, learning from, and sharing.
Here's a piece I wrote when I was coming out of my marriage/depression/closet:
thinning ice
thinking about the unspoken, vacant tunnels
of unsaid, swelling with indecision
I watched the earth breath snow
across my windshield for miles
I watched the child I was afraid to conceive
inch across the carpet
I watched my oldest son’s hair
branch out into the wilderness
I watched the ice thin
and traced each crack to its silent conclusion
I watched the sleeping begin to dream again
and I closed my eyes, because I wanted to see it, too
regularly scheduled programming
Candace says that she wants me to be with her all the time. She hates the house I am seeing behind her back.
We are scheduled for couples' counseling in early January.