Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Yesterday, and even more so today, I have felt immense relief. Relief that my youngest graduated from high school though he nearly shot himself in the foot over one class. Relief that Funny Delightful Son kept his apartment in such wonderful shape during the last year, making moving then cleaning a quick endeavor. Relief that Lovely Beautiful Daughter texted with the message that her apartment has rented, so she will get her security deposit back though she is breaking her lease a month early. Relief that at least two members of my family are now aware of what is happening between me and my husband. And they found out because of me, the person who had agreed to keep things quiet, writing on this blog. A space that had gone silent for nearly two years. A space I decided to use to think through all the junk in my head. A space I returned to with the thought that no one would be reading it. So I wrote openly, and each time I wrote, I felt a working through happening. I'd not said ...

My husband and I agreed to have "dates." He can ask me out. I can ask him out. For our first date, we had dinner then talked late into the evening, until we reached the point of frustration brought about by my husband first saying he understands why I've been angry but then going on to show he truly doesn't understand. I left, going back to my place, feeling as if we are forever going to be two ships passing in the dark. For our second date, we went on a yard sale adventure then followed that up with dinner at my place. The yard sale adventure went just fine. The dinner was good. My husband, though, thought my asking him over for dinner meant intimacy afterward. When I declined, he became upset. We parted ways. Again. We really are so far apart on just about every aspect of life. At this point, I'm not sure if we will ever be on the same page again. Perhaps we have never been on the same page. Perhaps for whatever reason, I just had it in my head that we were wh...

It always seems like the closer I get to the end of the semester, the more I put off doing what I should be doing--grading final papers--to write poetry or short fiction. More recently, I've been focusing on the poetry. The space between blood and bone She sits beside me, relaxed,  though a layer of weariness cloaks her like a worn, familiar sweater she can’t let go to Goodwill. A small smile is the switch bringing light to her dark brown eyes, and she looks at me, whispers  she is done with soul prostitution. One hand rests on the place that beneath,  past skin loosened from sacred creation, past flesh protecting the space of possibilities, is blood-warmed hope she planted,  guards now like Cerberus to keep safely inside where it roots, can take hold, nurtured until like ivy entwines with bone, with sinew, swaddling her heart, then spreading  into her limbs unchecked until orange ribbons exit  through her fin...

Go to dinner with me this evening, my husband suggests. I am working in the garden behind the house. Where the chickens used to be. Where the empty beehive still stands at the far end. I didn't answer. Think about it for a bit and let me know, he says. I nod. As I pull weeds, shift pavers around, lug cinder blocks to line the fence, I think about the neglect of the space. Life resonated throughout the garden once. Chickens. Bees. Birds. Rabbits. Snakes. Now an emptiness fills the space, and emptiness that began two years ago with the chickens, after a neighbor complained to the city, and a city official showed up one sunny June morning, telling me to remove the chickens from the premises. The emptiness grew when the bees absconded, leaving the hive to follow the queen wherever it was she had decided to go. The sadness I felt then stirs from my heartspace. Dormant for a long time but still residing within. Still a part of me these two years since. Bringing life back, s...

Early this morning I returned to the house my husband and I have shared for the last 13 years, to see Angel Baby off to school. While I have been staying overnight at the new place, Angel Baby has been staying where he has been for most of his life. This has been the best arrangement for him, a bit of a buffer for the disruption happening all around us. I try to talk with him every day, checking in to be sure he is moving forward, feeling calm and okay with what is happening. He always says he is, but I can tell when he is feeling overwhelmed. He told me recently that he has been confiding in two close friends. I told him I'm so happy to hear this as we all need that someone we feel comfortable discussing difficult matters with. He seemed relieved to see I am perfectly okay with him not confiding in me. And I truly am. Now he is gone and so is my husband. I am alone in this house. I go to the bedroom I've been sleeping in for 13 years. My side of the bed is still made up. My ...

From my daily journal: Tuesday, May 2, 2017: I am in the writing center. I sit and listen as a student confides in me about a tough decision she had to make this week: telling the man she’s been in a relationship with for some time to leave. He doesn’t support me, she says. He’s always telling me I can’t do this (return to college), she says. I’m 50 and this is the third time I’ve tried to get a degree, she says. I will do this. I will finish, she tells me. As I watch this beautiful woman’s face go from sad to determined to resigned to happy. I tell her about all the women I have met over the years whose boyfriends or husbands were unhappy with them going to college, learning, finding out how smart they truly are. And I think back to just yesterday when I arrived at work, feeling so fortunate for being able to extricate myself from a toxic relationship. Thinking about all the women out there who cannot because they don't have a support network. Or they...

Ado and I spent the first night in our new home. My bed--a Japanese shikibuton--arrived earlier in the day, so I lugged it to the Jeep, folded down the seats, and slid it in. It took longer to get the mattress out of the box and the heavy plastic it was wrapped in than it did to get it to the Jeep, in the Jeep, out of the Jeep, then into the house. Once the shikibuton was unrolled, I stretched out on it. I snuggled into its firm support. An hour later, I awoke, totally surprised at having fallen asleep. The simplicity of the shikibuton suits me. No ornate headboard or footboard. No box spring to have to wrestle with. Just a mattress. I do think I'll raise it off the floor, though. I truly want the mattress to last for many years. After reading about how to care for the shikibuton, I learned mold/mildew can be a problem if the mattress is left laid out on the carpet, so having it off the floor seems like a good way to go. If I decide to go without the platform, I'll have to ...