unopened tulips

The air is warm enough that I am able to sit on my winter-mildewed balcony, the tiles under my bare feet hot, the northern wind absent. I am without child and husband, wearing yesterday’s loose pants and cardigan. It’s Saturday and the rains of the last days have plumped up the leaves on our birch tree. I almost cannot see the hospital, where I was just released from last week, the spring trees overtaking the view. I no longer know what it feels to wake up clear. Somehow the self-inflicted pain from hangovers in my twenties where far better then getting sick by foreign pathogens in my thirties. Seems like
pain was more manageable from my own hand.

I have four months until I’m without sleep once again, my body lactating, my food and life regulated by cries. I had an illusion of sailing into this summer, my first toddling his way ahead of me as I regaled once again at the beauty of the human body, rounding and changing to accept a new life.

For now I do as my mother in law says: trinken und abwarten.

Waiting it seems for a health that is slow in returning.

The air is warm enough that I am able to sit on my winter-mildewed balcony, the tiles under my bare feet hot, the northern wind absent. I am without child and husband, wearing yesterday’s loose pants and cardigan. It’s Saturday and the rains of the last days have plumped up the leaves on our birch tree. I almost cannot see the hospital, where I was just released from last week, the spring trees overtaking the view. I no longer know what it feels to wake up clear. Somehow the self-inflicted pain from hangovers in my twenties where far better then getting sick by foreign pathogens in my thirties. Seems like
pain was more manageable from my own hand.

I have four months until I’m without sleep once again, my body lactating, my food and life regulated by cries. I had an illusion of sailing into this summer, my first toddling his way ahead of me as I regaled once again at the beauty of the human body, rounding and changing to accept a new life.

For now I do as my mother in law says: trinken und abwarten.

Waiting it seems for a health that is slow in returning.

Year 3:
I had some help

Year 3:
I had some help

These feet were made to fly

These feet were made to fly

Doing the uncommon, subway riding in LA

Doing the uncommon, subway riding in LA

It’s good to be home

It’s good to be home

Bathroom Break

And so, that is how he found him. Alone, in the crib, without a blanket and pillow just like how the instruction books said. His howling woke him up from where he had fallen asleep down the hall, leisurely reading in the unheated sitting room.

In the morning, he discovered they had both fallen asleep exhausted in the big bed usually occupied by three, the baby with dried streaked tears on his pale face.

When he recalled this memory, he debated if he had heard his wife call out to him in her tired voice that she needed to use the bathroom. He couldn’t remember if she said this before the baby’s cries woke him, the baby somehow knowing in his inexperienced mind that the way mommy’s hands had laid him down, felt like finality.

Somehow, it felt better knowing she had called out for a break before she left.

"In his forty-third year William Stoner learned what others, much younger, had learned before him: that the person one loves at first is not the person one loves at last, and that love is not an end but a process through which one person attempts to know another".

- Stoner by John Williams

"In his forty-third year William Stoner learned what others, much younger, had learned before him: that the person one loves at first is not the person one loves at last, and that love is not an end but a process through which one person attempts to know another".

- Stoner by John Williams

Snow riding

Snow riding

I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.

—1994. A Long Walk to Freedom

Watching for Xaver

Watching for Xaver

Morning surprise

Morning surprise

Bath time is a little scary at first

Bath time is a little scary at first

(dürfen)

I allow myself just the faintest indulgence
A stolen moment
In between errands
A singular glass
On disciplined lips
My enjoyment now
Is seized
No longer having the time
For it to come to me

Ahead

They walk ahead of me
In the darkened road
Emerging intermittently
Under the street lamps
Their human chain of laughter
Holding and leaning into each other
Sharing
I think
How is it to be held
With just the intention of love?

Your receding back is familiar
All that I’ve hidden
Releases in Exhale
and I finally
breathe