My husband and I share a place by the tree.
One day, the sound of his voice calls out to me.
From out in the fields, through a window to the sink,
He calls me to come, to sit, and to think.
I yearn for his company, and seek it I will.
I leave my one dish unwashed by the sill.
I pluck a flower from a vase, his favorite, marigold
And leave my silent house, lonesome, barren and old.
I traverse up the hills, to the crux of the mound.
With the tree’s greenest of leaves shadowing the ground.
I watch the branches sway, with gentle idleness.
The sturdy bark of the tree stands crooked and timeless.
I place the marigold to the feet of my love,
When a gentle whisper calls out to me from above.
The leaves rustle, fervent, a cacophony of sound
The memories of bliss come rushing around.
I once sat under this tree, with my love by my side,
We ate lunch and knitted, or at least he had tried.
He snipped the yarn short, too small to be used.
“The yarn’s better this way,” he told me, amused.
The flower sits still, by the ground of the tree.
The only one to see this beautiful flower is me.
I yearn for his company, mourn for his choice,
Our place by the tree where I last heard his voice.
I come here to sit, to think and to grieve.
A part of me still wonders and wants to believe,
That if I was a better woman to the man that I love,
Then maybe he wouldn’t have brought his soul above.
Before you were born, you were the thought of fear about the future. Before you were born, you were a
mistake, an accident, and now a problem. Before you were born, your parents were working on a farm,
picking vegetables, and growing rice. You were living on a farm, hours outside of the city, up on a
mountain, in a tiny village. Before you were born, your parents worried about providing food for
themselves. You were a pea-sized fetus, undernourished, and under-developed growing each day.
Before you were born, you were the joy that brought a smile to your mother’s face, but tears, to your
fathers eyes. Before you were born, you were the fear of not getting the future you deserve. You were the
thought that your parents could not provide a life for you. Before you were born, you were the thought that
living somewhere else, becoming a new person, and having new parents would be the best option. The
only option.
Pitter patter,
Pitter patter:
The soft tap of rain down the car windows
Accompanies this sticky summer Saturday of June.
Soon Mom turns left off of Cedar Street and
Pulls into a clearing enveloped by pine trees,
Five, ten miles from the nearest supermarket.
A site so secluded even the GPS
Can’t seem to find it;
A place almost abandoned with
Soiled showers and murmuring mosquitoes;
A sector hidden from plain sight
Silent because we are the only ones there.
But our annual trip still
Sparks joy in my mind,
A thrill of adventure down my spine.
As night creeps into the open ceiling and
Paints the sky a deep sapphire blue,
Stars twinkle like tiny diamonds;
Telling stories in the blank canvas of the dark
As we tell stories of our own around a crackling fire.
Knowing the trip will be over too soon, too early
We gently toast marshmallows until just barely charred,
Savoring the sweet essence of simply being.
A strip of powdery sediment on the Northern side,
Where the bay’s gentle waves are embraced;
A barricade of rocks along the Southern,
The relentless Atlantic, pounding, pounding.
Children skipping, buckets clanking,
Rushing to the sandy shore.
Colorful crystals clinking in the pockets of collectors,
Their edges softened by the swirling sea and sand;
Younger children clustering around collapsing sand palaces,
Others out splashing in the shimmering waters.
Parents packing, children slumping,
Trekking back to the comforting cottage.
The shore quiets,
Lapping waves fill the silence;
The day’s final light casts its glow,
Painting the sky a warm peachy pink.
An oasis in a vast expanse of blue.
This is the tragic story of finding the right person at the wrong time.
Like any young love, their love was strong
and like any young love, their timing was wrong.
They weren’t ready.
And love,
love decided that they didn’t belong.
They were too scared of letting go.
Too scared to admit they wasted their time.
Hoping nostalgia would bring them back,
reminiscing only made their dreams turn black.
When they tried moving forward
with their heads turned back
this twisted logic hurt them.
It hurt them so bad.
While time walked ahead,
they stayed behind to watch whatever was left.
Watching it crackle, burn out,
and turn to smoke.
Both of them were too scarred to shine for a second time
for this is the story of finding the right person at the wrong time.