CJ Writes

Things Could Be Different

If things could be
different between us,

I’d put my hands gently on each side
of your face.

I’d stand on my tippy toes,
leaning in cuz I’d know you wouldn’t hurt me
if I fell.

I’d ask you in a whispery voice to
close your eyes.

And then I’d wait,
as I’ve grown used to doing
while you decided to trust
or close down
inside of yourself.

If you chose to chance it,
I’d sigh deeply,
letting go of the breath
I’d been holding.

And while you considered
if now was the time
to freely, openly smile,
I’d run my tongue over
your rounded lids.

If you kept them closed a bit longer
I’d gently kiss the long
black lashes that so carefully shade
your beautiful eyes.

Then maybe,
when I took my hands away
and you opened your eyes,
you’d see it was safe
to stop hiding your heart behind
those inky eyes,

at least from me.

And then things could be
different between us.

~ cj 2013.06.03

Chasmic Canyon

“I promise,
I’ll be more present soon.
And thank you
for your angelic grace
and undying patience.”

His words barely
reached me anymore,
less and less urgent
each time they echoed
across the chasmic canyon
gaping impossibly
between he and I.

“No problem;
we must each do
what’s best for us”,
I called back to him
over my shoulder,
less and less urgent
about crossing that chasm.

My meaning wasn’t reaching him.

I know, because there he stood,
waving and smiling,
oblivious to all my patience
and that last bit of grace
getting pushed over the edge
and crashing finally, tragically,
into the rocks
of the raging river below.

And then I watch him
and his smiling hope
getting smaller and smaller
in my rear view mirror,
as I and my heart
turn towards the road ahead,
and drive away
from the chasmic canyon.

~ cj 2013.05.20

chasm (noun)

a marked interruption of continuity; gap: a chasm in time.
a wide difference in interests, feelings, etc

a sundering breach in relations, as a divergence of opinions, beliefs, etc., between persons or groups.

I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.

I Should Have Known

He said “You should have known.”

He’s right, you know.

I should have known,
because he should have told me.

But now I do.
I found out on my own.

He should have known I would.

~ cj 2013.05.16

Replaced in 12 Days

I planted a garden this year, taking another step in reclaiming the space my (now ex) husband and I used to share. I wanted to see something growing here. I longed to experience new life again, in a home where everything that mattered to me got so neglected or mistreated, it died. I needed to take another step to accept that death, and let it go.

I was and am incredibly proud of the work I’ve done back there, even though there’s much more to do. Showing up and caring to do my best in this garden was an important, healing step for me. And now, most of the plants and seeds are growing and thriving, and I can’t wait to eat lettuce and brussel sprouts, carrots and all those tomatoes. But the cucumbers never came in, and a few herbs I planted didn’t do so well.

Of the herbs I planted, there’s a lot of mint, which is now beginning to compete with the tomatoes for space. There’s also one sweet basil left, but it’s going to need some drastic intervention to survive. I lost the remaining three herbs – one sweet basil, one purple leaf basil, and one dill plant.

I left the dead herb remains in the garden, while I paid attention to more pleasurable pursuits. Their carcasses became overshadowed by tomato plants quickly climbing out of tall cages; cages that dwarfed tiny tomato plants just a few weeks ago.

I celebrated the blooms beginning to show up everywhere on the tomato plants’ sun-craving vines, while I studiously ignored the dead herbs rotting or shriveling nearby. I’ve grown quite the talent for ignoring this kind of thing.

Yesterday, I decided I’d had enough of ignoring dead things, so I bought three new plants to replace them. I found another purple leaf basil that’s twice as big and much more vibrant than the original one I’d planted. And I found a dill plant I hope will make it, despite looking a tad bit brown.

Basil Holly

But I couldn’t find a sweet basil, which made me slightly sad, because it was a comfortable herb I could rely on. Instead, I found a Basil Holly. Time for something new, and this was the best I could do. So I bought it and took it home, telling myself it was going to be just as good, or maybe even better than the other one I’d originally planted.

Purple Basil

And although I liked the predictable sweet basil, the purple basil is my favorite. I love the unique color, and its unashamed, ruffly leaves.

Today, I dug up what was left of the dead plants, and I replaced them with these new ones. Exactly 12 days has passed from the time I’d admitted to myself those plants were dead, and accepted that I’d either have to live without them, or get new ones. And while I was digging up the dead and replacing them with new plants, I realized 12 was also the exact number of days between when my (now ex) husband and I divorced on April 8th, and when he replaced me with a new wife on April 20th.

Sweet Basil Carcass and new Basil Holly

They’ve been involved since before he moved out of our house, so perhaps the 2.5 years he and I were separated before the divorce gave them a chance to learn about each other and grow in a positive way. Maybe he’ll decide this new wife is better than me, in the same way I’m holding out hope for my Basil Holly. From my heart, without malice, I do hope for his new wife’s sake, that what killed our 23.5 year marriage for me, doesn’t kill his new one.

Succulent, but a bit prickly

And when the newness wears off, may he still find his wife succulent and beautiful, without getting frustrated and mean when she’s prickly or needy.

As for me? It was the right decision to dig up and replace those dead plants, just like it was the right decision for me to walk away from the carcass of my dead marriage.

It’s taken me awhile to begin putting new life in its place, but I am patient and looking forward to what blooms from this change in my life. And while I feel better equipped to take care of my new plants, because I understand what went wrong, I still have plenty of learning, growing and healing to finish before I consider myself ready to replace my (now ex) husband.

~ cj 2013.05.15

Blazing

I watched from the window
as you walked out again
wide open jacket exposing
your frightened heart,
hands already quite chilled
from having no mittens.

A cold draft blew through
when you slammed the door,
turning away from the beginnings
of the kind of roaring fire
you swore you wanted blazing
at the heart of your life.

You blindly run through the snow,
tripping through drifts piling high
which deceptively cover
too much uneven ground
for you to traverse without falling.

As you flee from facing your pain,
towards some sparse flame
glowing with promise
in the distant night,
I catch a glimpse of sad hope
burning in your misguided eyes.

I heard the forecast,
so I tried to warn you.
cold today, cold tomorrow,
even colder next week.

I see more storms rolling
into your life,
dress warm I call out,
and learn how to build your own fire.

I know what awaits you
from my own life spent
shivering in unspeakable blizzards
chasing another’s promise of warmth.

I attended to so many small fires
that were lit, then stomped out
by some like-minded fool.

But I kept running towards them,
until one day, nearly frozen,
I realized I was mostly
running from me.

I stopped,
and I went back inside.
I sat down.
I started over.
I learned how to dress myself warm.
And then I rose up,
and went out in the dark
on my own.

I stood in the bitter, dark winds
and faced a forest of work,
crying through the blistering pain
of chopping and piling
because I finally saw
it was the only way
to have the kind of roaring fire
I swore I wanted blazing
at the heart of my life.

And now there is you.

Once, twice, three times
you’ve come to my door
seeking warmth,
afraid you’ll never find fire.

I let you in,
so you could see,
even though I was not finished.

But sweet man,
you’ve fled again
and this time I’m letting you go,
because you are not ready
to build your own fire
and you will not wait
for me to finish my own.

I am losing sight of you now
as the snow swiftly covers your tracks.

I bundle up,
and head back out
to my forest of work.
And as I face into
my own dark winds again,
my heart will stay hopeful
that before you freeze
you’ll stop running
long enough to see that
you are the only one who can build
the kind of roaring fire
you swear you want blazing
at the heart of your life.

~ cj 2013.04.20

Stone, Stone Cold

Today is the first day
I’ve written on stone paper.

I find it cool to the touch
and beautifully soft
as I caress its pages
with my fingers
and press my pen
into filling its lines.

It is also the first day
after many other first days
I’ve filled with my aching search
to understand
how your heart went
so stone, stone cold.

Perhaps I believed a day
spent writing on stone paper
would connect me to
some deeper truth
beneath the cool smooth surface.

But in spite of what paper I choose,
and no matter how many stones
I overturn seeking answers,
each day of firsts
ends like the others,
with more pen filled paper,
tucked under more stones,

and me,
further than ever
from our last caress,
still filled
with that aching need
to understand
how your heart went
from beautifully soft to
so stone, stone cold.

~ 2013.04.20

Bloom Wide Open

I found this reckless beauty,
at the beach,
bloom wide open.

Her fragile petals blew wildly
in the wicked wind
as she fearlessly
faced the waves.

She’d blossomed
in her own restless time,
oblivious now
to who’d missed this
singular moment
fearfully waiting
for fairer weather to arrive.

No matter,
those waves
or that wind,
not to her.

She faced forward,
brilliantly being
a bloom wide open
for anyone who cared to enjoy,

but mostly for herself.

~ 2013.04.12

To Find Me

Someone
in a car like yours
drove slowly by,

and for a moment,
I thought you’d come
to the edge of the ocean
to find me.

He drove by
without stopping.

And I admit,
for a moment?
It slowed me down.

I noticed how edgy
my heart was
from the idea
that you might come
to find me.

I noticed how saddened
my heart was
from realizing
you’d never come
to find me.

But then,
I drove that thought away
and turned back
to the edge of the ocean
because I am here
to find me.

~ cj 2013.04.10