Time

Time, no longer in tempo, and I've forgotten the meaning, anyway.
Here, now, it feels like hell but in another time and place, we'll meet.
This is hope.  These are prayer said as the hourglass of our lives, slowly drips its sand.
Which epoch began last Friday? Was it last or a week before?  The calendar keeps better time than I but doesn't help if I never look at it.  You, I want to look at but you don't see.  Time is elusive as love.


bluebell books

dverse

"The saddest thing I ever heard,” Maggie answered. 

But, no, she hadn’t said that. That’s just what Jess had thought she’d say and hearing what she'd wanted to, she now couldn’t educe what words Maggie had really delivered. Too much was clanging around now. Had she suggested even the word sad? A word close to sad? It was awful, tragic, sickening, heart-wrenching.  It was. It was when Jess had witnessed it, and still when she remembered it for it wasn’t gone.  It had made a home within her and sometimes she was successful at locking the door to that abode, travelling elsewhere, but when she came back to her heart which sometimes and unfortunately beat on solid ground, that was what she had to return to.  So whatever Maggie had remarked, it should have been what Jess had wanted to hear.  Something, anything to mitigate the fact that here, her heart was a shack and that only in her dreams was there a safe place to dwell.

“You’re angry today, Jess and that’s okay.”  Maggie voice softened as she continued, “But I wonder if really you’re just sad?”

Could she be angry and sad at the same time or was the anger holding fort, keeping the tears at bay, avoiding any healing or reconciliation between one world and another?

 Jess protected her face with her hands to hide its contortion when she squeezed it tight, willing anguish of some form to alleviate. 

Maggie stood from the chair by the bed and approached the bed where she then perched, placing  her left hand on Jess’ thigh by her knee.  Jess felt something in her heart burst and she began to now cry hard.  

Maggie didn’t speak but nor did she act as though she were uncomfortable with Jess’ show of emotion. 

How would she ever be able to do this? Retain that peace and joy she felt with him, and bring it over?  She wasn’t strong enough.  In this state, even with Maggie’s presence she was fighting hard against the voices and the smudges of what she thought she’d polished in strong veneer.  Now the tears exposed her own truth, perhaps, that she was weak and weary and bone scared and sad but actually furious too.  Furious about the situation.  This was a no-man’s land for her. It was built for others- not for her.  Her diagnosis only proved that. She’d barely been able to walk through it before, and now how would she ever?

“You aren’t alone here,”  Maggie said finally as Jess’ tears ran dry as the land she felt she lived in.  

When you don't know
where your story's going
because you don't know where
             your life is going.....


             Keep going.
                               Go with the
flow or go against the grain
but, go.

There is healing in movement.
                             Move loudly in protest
                                or move slowly in silence
but be
moved.  To tears,
             to action,
             to goodness,
             and on toward necessary change.

You worry
you're wandering.
but steps mean trust and the path is hidden only from your weak eyes.
      Strain, seek.  It will one day be made plain.

“Would you ever leave? I mean, would you leave if I wanted you to?” she asked Josh. 

It was evening here.  He'd been waiting and they sat side by side under a willow tree.  The sun was turning in for the day and Josh’s face appeared shadowy. 

“Would you want me to?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted, a deep regret for asking him that question rising in her.  How could she want that? How could she possibly want to give up the one thing, the one person, who bestowed upon her a sense of belonging.

“I’ll stay with you for as long as you want,” he declared, leaning back, placing his hands behind his head for a pillow.  Jess did the same and they stared at the sky which was canopied in clouds tonight.  Starless.  

Why was it night?  She sat up with that thought, knowing it had never been night here before and then when she was sitting, it was in her bed.  

She peeled back the curtain and looked into her backyard.  The sky was cloudy and starless.  

Art Every Day - My first time

She had walked home without really being aware of her steps. She had grabbed her lit assignment and drawn a bath.  She'd set her fattest towel (her special bath towel) on the sink, poured the bubble bath and lit the candle. All these things her mom had sent her for her last birthday.  Perfect gift for a lonely, dateless girl.    Her tears had dried but her insides felt raw, as if the salt of her crying had done permanent damage. She started in where she'd left off on A Room of One's Own.  The words blurred strangely together but she gave attention to focus and when she read the lines, "What is meant by "reality"? It would seem to be something very erratic, very undependable"...  she put the book down, carefully on the sink so as not to get it wet. She turned the water on hotter, and then let the faucet pour the water through her hands as she tried hard  to recall the most recent memory of him.  The moment had endured deliciously but of course, had ended too soon.  And so here she was again in this world, immersed in the hottest water she could stand,recalling his face, his feet, his hair, the way he'd looked leaving.  She needed some comfort. Surrendered to the warmth and the water, she inched down so her whole body, face included, was covered.  She lay there listening to the sound of engulfing water.  She was sad.  That was just it.  Sad.   The confusion had dissipated but she was left here, in this house, this town, this world, alone.  Her heart had not broken when he’d left but it was breaking now in his absence.  He came at will it seemed and she wondered if she had any say in their meetings.  Underwater, she imagined for a brief second what it would be like to scream soundless, submerged; to let the water fill her lungs.  Coming up, she gasped for breath and reached blindly for a towel for her eyes.  She wondered if he could see her now, see her choice, however meager, to live.  See her pain.  It was a strange thought and one she hadn't considered before. She whispered his name.  Nothing.  Finally,when the water had cooled, she rose and wrapped herself in that fluffy, thick, white towel which spoke of her solitude.  She didn't even bother with pajamas.  She just walked into her bedroom, laid down on top of the covers, thoughts of him, her blanket and fell into a deep sleep.

Fire (excerpt)

We are learning to make fire, she thought.  What was that from?  That was exactly what it felt like.  As they kissed and she learned of earthly passions, yes, it was like learning to make fire. That first discovery of creating sustaining heat.  The excitement  of the first flickering spark and then  it spreads and grows more glorious, casting dangerous but delicious heat and they gathered this from each other’s embrace, feeding each other of these brilliant moments, this shared coursing of desire in their limbs, their tongues, everywhere.   

 “Did you hear me?” Keith asked. 

  She looked up at him, his fork down, waiting for her response.  He’d said something stupid, she thought, trying to recall his question.  It had been something cliché.   It was better when he didn’t speak.

Submitting at Kristen Lamb's blog, too.  (author of Are You There Blog,It's Me Writer and We Are Not Alone, The Writer's Guide To Social Media.)

excerpt 3

It was eight am.  She'd been up for half an hour but hadn't moved from bed.  She didn't feel good today.  And she was trying to remember.  She needed to remember.  More so than usual.  That dream had been important.  For she hadn't spoken.  She had listened only.  This much she could recall.  And what he spoke, was meant to be carried over.  

                She continued to resist the urge to open her eyes.  Over the years, she'd learned that as soon as she let the light of the morning in, the dream quickly faded so that it became less and less tangible throughout the day.  And she'd accepted that somewhat but today she felt a pressing need to recall his words.  They had been an answer, she thought, to some unspoken question.  It was almost as if a language was spoken there, in the night which was also day, a language untranslatable in this reality.  But why then would she grasp for it so? Why this unease at the forgetting? If it wasn’t translatable how could it be important?  How could she love him so much when she couldn’t even identify him, speak his language? 

                But she understood at night.

Excerpt 2

Her hand began to tingle just slightly.   It had originated in her fingers but she had ignored it until it moved across her palm and throbbed.  Still, she resisted opening her eyes.  This happened at times; one or another of her body parts would beg for attention and she'd be drawn away.  Careful to stay focused on keeping her eyes shut, she did allow her mind to wander quickly to her hand.  There she felt her worn, crocheted blanket, tan and hand-rubbed thin throughout the years.  If she saw it, she’d find herself in her bed.  No! If she could just stay a little longer here.  The blanket is with me here, she thought.  And yes, now it was.  She was sitting on the bank and there. There was the rush of the water on her feet.  Her right hand fingered the blanket that lay beside her, grass prickling through its holes.  See.  There were other ‘things’ as well.  He’d brought a picnic basket, plain.  Mmm.  What was it?  When he brought food, it was simple but so delicious, so nourishing.  She looked for him now.   There.  He was walking toward her, and the sight of him stabilized her and her heart swelled.  She swallowed down hard any uncertainty, turning once more toward the basket. Had he remembered something to drink?  

First Excerpt

Novel Encounters:

He carried a peace about him, as though he had never encountered anything harrowing in this world, as if he wasn't even from this world.  It seemed as though nothing could touch him but at the same time, there was no arrogance about him.  In fact, he exuded humility and his eyes held a gentle understanding that defied the notion that he’d not been touched by heartache.