For the first time in I honestly can’t tell you how long, I wrote down some poems last night. This used to be my favorite medium once upon a time. I don’t know when it was I abandoned it and I don’t know why either. I really feel as if the clouds are lifting in a very real way. It being over a year since we separated, I’d say it’s about time. So many books and articles I read about grieving divorce said it’d be at least a year, more likely two, and I never believed them– it felt indefinite. But here we are, and it feels so good. It’s this type of experience that makes me understand, really, why people are fascinated with the butterfly imagery. When you get down to it, it really feels just like you’d imagine the metamorphisis to be. You wrap yourself up in this darkness and stay there for some time. Then, you start pushing against it, breaking it open until you’re out. And then, you’re stretching and testing your wings, your limbs and adjusting your eyes to the brightness you’d forgotten.

The most intriguing symptom has been the re-awakening of my creative spirit. I keep seeing things in magazines and online that I want to make or re-interpret (I can’t find the deer art project I have in mind here, rgh). Even this blog is a manifestation that I’m coming around. I am three-quarters through this little dress and am determined to keep the knitting going, contemplating my next project and keeping the quickly approaching holidays (trust me, they’re coming fast) in mind. Plus, there are visions of paper, glue, and scissors prancing in my head. I have a fantasy of filling my house with art– mine and my children’s plus photographs. I wouldn’t mind if there wasn’t a bare wall in the house to be honest. Maybe then the beige walls won’t seem so boring. If you’d like to get me a gift, make it a frame of any size.

And just because it’s a fantastic Friday, here’s one of the poems I wrote last night. Don’t worry, it’s short and light.


She flicked the

freshly laundered sheet


And a sock sprang

from a pocket

and snatched

 in the blinds

of the nearest window

while a pair

of pink panties

fluttered to her feet


One thought on “Poetic

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