Once again I have finished a really good book, a deeply riveting memoir of a life greatly rooted
in lies and deceit, of families and the far reaching rippling after effects of choices.
I have devoured it and it in turn
seems to have devoured
me.
This is a common occurrence to find myself willingly absorbing the story of another. Of course I know the parts that start to work their way into my veins are the parts I recognize as all too familiar, although in different ways.
I seem to have this knack for being drawn to books that start to
coax out
the worms from a can that I
have absent-mindedly left
open.
Two things strike me this morning, thoughts that today whatever else
I should NOT sit down to write,
and
the aching feeling
that I really wish I could talk to my Aunt Pat,
(and just how much I miss her)
after the morning read and my shower
(where I inevitably let thoughts become words
and sentences, I am still trying not to write)
what catches my eye outside the kitchen window are shredded bits of bark
dangling from the trumpet vine, blowing in the wind
and the word shredded attaches itself to me like a post-it note
as this is indeed how I am feeling
on the
inside
the all too familiar shift in hormones, whether it is surge or dip
I never remember, I just know it comes as a wave
and insistently
it bowls me under
I can feel myself battered and bothered by
everything
where my only real need, feels like a stern wish
to keep everything about the world at a safe distance
where I feel over sensitive and over exposed
and all I want is my own small quiet
space
friends outside, family outside… and for a moment
even my love
I just need a minute
It’s not a nice feeling,
for the most part I try to keep it
inside, I go quiet
I take my own personal vow
of
silence
(although I am never
completely)
issue warnings, send out a few flares
try to keep myself from lashing out unnecessarily
I think what I try to do is to protect
the soft areas around my heart, that sometimes hold
the fear
the unreasonable parts
the
delicate…
I still swell with gratitude
can feel its rise
inside me and around me
and I know well it is love that keeps my feet moving
when I would much rather crawl further back into my.
cave
and throw stones at passers-by
the other night the outside light on the back porch
flashes and then
burns out,
I ask my husband if he can change it, as I cannot reach
while he does this in the dark
one of the screws from the shade, falls and is lost
despite searching, for a few days
it sits
bare bulb, harsh in its light
this morning, early
when I open the door to let the dogs out
there is the little black screw
in plain sight
and just now when I look out at the bits of bark
dangling from the trumpet vine
in the wind
I wonder if instead of shreds,
it may be
the beginnings
of a
nest ♥