The Day After
The rubble smolders
We may have to wait
Before we can start cleaning up
There is healing after surgery
I keep thinking
It’s just a matter of time
Every year that passes
I better pick up more pills
Pick up a pen
I have a Frankenstein monster heart
Pieces of many, stitched together by
A surgeon with limited resources
The day after. A voice, a rose, a cat, anything for relief. There’s fear after the loss. Feel like a wasteland, it’s okay. Natural. Is it sand? Is it snow? The ocean? Darkness? In loss, we seem to see only the best and worse parts of ourselves; the white and black. There is no gray. We hold fast to the center ball of the pendulum swinging between the two sides every minute. At least we can keep still. Stillness in the sudden silence.
Loss will sterilize the air and leave a mess. Let the mess reflect you. The air will keep you breathing.
Loss is a long walk. You won’t know you were transforming until you are transformed. But that’s a long walk away. For now, remain under a tree, on a horse, in bed.
There is a ripple effect to loss. I’ve experienced one that wasn’t mine, but I surfed a wake. And out and out it goes. You’re never alone. When the tide comes back through the undertow it returns love, sand, nutrients, darkness, clarity, sharp shells, and the unknown.
You’re molecules hold you together in an erratic world. They clash, then stabilize, clash, stabilize, but hold you in one piece, more or less. One step at a time, tomorrow. Hold on, the day after.
©2017, Valerie Marie Leslie