In the 11 nights since I wrung my hands,
warmed by neither the coffee mug I'd held nor
your jagging breath cadence and
sat stiffly, examining the tufts
of cat hair on your carpet,
I had not dreamt.
I loved waking
to fold my self, deeply sighing belly,
open window panes to sky omens,
so I could tell you about dream circuses
or space flights - improbable romances.
Until last night, worn from a day of work followed by a night
spent researching yet more - more marriage sites
than I could handle - I slumped off to my
soft, empty bed and wrangled the
spinning thoughts there quiet. I dreamt -
the black hole that had been finally filled
with dark hours' story. I dreamt
of you. The hug you gave me 12 hours earlier still
lingering on my prone body like coffee aftertaste.
I woke, not knowing what I said, but glistening with the shine
of listening to you then.
I wrote the above poem in April and stuck it in a desk drawer so it could be found now. I've been doing a lot of listening to family lately. I'm really glad to discover that I've learned quite a few lessons in the last year or two about listening and talking; about absorption and limits. I don't want to use the word "lately" here, but lately I can see every person's beauty so easily. I'm a walking meditation, able to see a thought, acknowledge it if need be, and move on contentedly. Channeling my own energy has helped in this immensely. I have a more confident sense of what my energy is doing, as well as how it affects me, and I can step outside of an immediate sensation more easily to look at my perceptions and reactions and behave accordingly. I have softened like the smell of roses a week past bloom.
I love forgiveness. It is one of my favorite living traits.