I stand here,
Surrounded on all
With reminders of you
Staring me down
Telling me it’s
Time to let go
She stands still, looking out over the sea
I hold my breath, watching from an upstairs window
Does she know she isn’t alone?
A breeze takes her by surprise, and a curl
Of hair is pulled from her cap
Blowing gently across her face.
Does she sense another presence,
Another pair of eyes-observing?
There is a noise in the distance, and
She abruptly turns her head to locate.
I instinctively take a step back in my place
But I have no reason to cower
The shadows give me the upper hand
Does she know she is my salvation?
Everything is so much simpler than
I had previously thought
For all my calculations and detailed notes-
My breathe still catches every time
Observation is not understanding, but
It’s pretty close
And anticipation carries a purpose
Does she sense, in her bones, my
Ache and longing?
Before I realize what’s happening
I’m reaching out to take hold-
My arm, exposed to the moonlight,
My hand slowly closing into a fist.
As the waves crash along the shore
She’s dropping to her knees
Clutching at her throat
Scratching for breath,
Staining her soft white neck
With a frenzy of red.
I realize this is my choice
I realize I deserve this
And at the same time
It will also prove to be my undoing.
But I have waited
I have kept still and quiet
In the shadows
And as my grip tightens,
I watch her reach out once more
To the hissing night-
Before tumbling down
Into the ocean.
Then all is still
The deed is done
I only hope to God
The ocean will
Wash away my sins.
The cabin air feels tight
And as I sit here not yet realizing
A picture pops into my head
Of you, eating grapes
At our table
Laughing at the ordinary moment
Of me dropping my milk
“Typical” You smirked
And that smile lingers
On the horizon as I
Softly go to sleep
Do I write for fun?
Or when the power of words hit me?
Do I write to process, to understand
The beauty of things that surround?
Would I write if energy was freely given,
Flowing to me in a continuous
And purifying rain of words?
If the bones in my hand didn’t ache
As I typed
And my heavy head wasn’t throbbing
From buried pain?
If my day wasn’t congested with
Chores and human frailties
Could I produce
A brilliant new world?
Or would I still sit here, wilting
Creativity dripping down the
Sides of my face
Not knowing how to come back from all this madness?