One of my personal hazards of moving is having to go through notebooks and find all those random places I wrote fiction or poetry in the middle of taking notes for work. This particular habit has plagued me since childhood, and I’ve long grown used to ripping pages out of math or history notebooks to preserve words that probably don’t have any business being saved anyway.
But since I’m clearing out and packing this week, here’s a poem I found from Valentines’ Day 2017 (special context: first one after my divorce):
To write about the light again
The glowing of the fight again
Rather than the struggle
To recognize the sun
Heartbreak broke me
As foretold, as expected
Yet I still felt bested
By the oldest story in the book
But I still have love
For spaces open and wide
Sunwarmed and windy
I remember something about myself
Like that young girl who
Would sing while walking
The trails in her backyard
Like that young girl who
Would sing on a beach
In the evening
I remember how my mind
Which I lock down with
Distraction and wine
Opens up when it’s open
And in Boston, running
On the Esplande
How sometimes in the
Middle of long miles
I was too happy to articulate
I was stronger than
I know how to explain
And I Have neer made
A promise indoors
That has stuck
The same way a conversation
About forever
On a backyard trampoline
Has guided me
I long for the light
I used to feel
Can almost see it again
Now that I finally remember
It was once there
Sometimes hearts need a year
Be kind to myself today
But be kind to the me of tomorrow
Forgive who you were
And love who you are
And see who you will become
To write about the light again
With Love,
Natalie