Parallel Trains

Time passed unstill

Whittled between my sighs

I thought I heard a passing man once say

He would have to leave it all behind

Anyway

What were we doing here

Time uncrossed

Running in parallel directions into a different space

Another universe when I had a chance to know you again

Love you

Jump back into that line and

grab that hair I left on your jacket

So you wouldn’t remember me once you got home.

And say goodbye one last time

Again.

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Let Me Learn You

Let me learn you.

let me flip through your pages in the mid-afternoon

allow me to read between the lines but trust the context of which I see.

Let me smell your spine to bring back memories.

Bend your pages and earmark my favorite passages.

Chapter by chapter

let me learn you.

Eggs for Sale

Time and time again he whispered into my ear and tugged on the loops of my jeans.

“I want to give you a baby.”

The driving force of growing into your thirties has its perks, but the craving of a child is unstoppable and at most times inconvenient.

I’m not sure what led to our passion that night, but it was sexy; the kind you read about in books and tighten your legs to during movies.

Hands: everywhere.

Bodies covered in salted steam, hips swinging from the pendulum of momentum.

The release of him into me was enough to remind me what I was after. I absorbed his sperm with my subconscious like a mushroom blooming in the dark.

Babies.

I held him there, refusing to let him slip away.

All that was wrong would be wrong again.

You see, we were no longer dating. We hadn’t been for months. But as you age, you see yourself very differently alone. There’s a sudden need for routine; a craving for the familiar. One thing was for certain: I wasn’t curious anymore. I’d been with many men, hardly one more surprising than the next. And it wasn’t the need for sex. Sex was more laborious than ever and I was aging. Twisting the skin on your neck and near your underarms is enough to make someone reevaluate habits and reaffirm self-doubt. One thing is for certain, if you are aging, so are your eggs.

Many times over the past few months I had decided I might be alone and old forever. Selfishly, no one to give me the gift I desired most; to create a life.

All I once I sat up in the bed and coughed to release his life from entering mine.

Is this what I have come to? Hormones become a Human?

My not-yet-thirty year-old body is not yet ready to be responsible for the passion of a one-night stand with an exhausted lover!

 

…But maybe tomorrow.

Meditation

I stare among the women in crossed-legged seated postures and wonder if I’ll ever get there. Smiles strung along their faces. They’ve made it. They have found some place to call home. They pull love and compassion from places I’ve never heard of; from some chakra of the month. I still pull my tears back. The only colorful line up are my excel spreadsheets during fundraising campaigns and no one seems to care how long I haven’t been smiling. Breathe. Count to three. Allow the inner critic to wash away. I need more inner goddess, that’s for sure. Do you get that from kombucha? Taking pictures in a yoga pose? Can you see me now? Calling for help. Breathe. Maybe I’m just jealous of all the love they seem to receive. An internal healing from tailbone to sun salutations. I wish there was a bandaid big enough to cover the wounds I have. The sands of time have only stung like salt ripe on my flesh. “Moving forward” was silly advice. I now exhale my problems onto the next person. Deep, cursed excerpts of my ode to humanity and love and family and relationships and him and… breathe. I guess maybe I am jealous of those smiles stretched across their faces. And maybe… just maybe, I’ll find my own love in my crossed-legged meditation too.

Maestro 

His presence is powerful and intimidating. The symphony of his synergy: alive and absorbing. He strings me through the air, conducting my every sound. Conducting my every move. I breathe in a cold air full of nerves and exhale the warmth of his infection, but I speak no words. What can I say that will steal his attention? The maestro of my heart’s affection.

Cold Winter Wind

Cold winter wind,

Remind me of my fingertips.

To pay attention to every detail of my body, my soul, and their intuitions. Remind me to touch with grace, lift with love and know when to stop beating a broken drum.

Cold winter wind, 

Be the ripples on the sand and make the unknown appear so fast. Blow a leaf in my hair and let it whisper in my ear. Tell me good tidings of Spring and wild Winter things.

Cold winter wind,

Shake and ache my bones until I know that no one ever grows alone. Teeth chattering, ears numb, my breath reminding me of my lungs. Deep warmth from within while I carry a silver sin.

Seal me in, cold winter wind.

Hybernate my body to cleanse it from a heavy, dirty toll and transform it into a newly formed version of your solid, sturdy soul.