Setting it Gently Down

“You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy. So let them go, let go of them. I tie no weights to my ankles.” – C. Joybell C.

The last time I left
the door slammed shut behind me,
slicing the back of my heel.
I wanted to sink to my knees
there on the stone walkway
but instead I stumbled forward,
a red trail of myself left there
on the soil leading up to your porch.

There is only one way to talk to the moon,
only one way to hold a fossil –
that is, tenderly.

So this is the last bit of time
I will spend on you, tonguing
your name and hacking it out with my pen.
I will stop trying to unearth you.
I will stop listening for you
in the full-throated scream
of the cicada beneath my window.

I will stop watching the clock and
envying its seconds.
I will accept that there will be
no seconds for us.

With shovel in hand I will go searching
for relics from someone else’s past.
I will hold them up to the light
and they will mean nothing to me,
I will break them if I want to.

It will feel good to speak to rock
without expecting a response.
It will feel good to handle history
with a steady hand and emerge
from the dirt unscathed.


3 thoughts on “Setting it Gently Down

  1. This poem is tender, immediate, engaging and real. I followed you out the door when it caught your heel. I felt the cut and saw the bright red drops. I counted seconds with you.

    One thing: rocks DO respond… and in their own quiet way they speak the truth.

    Keep using your genuine voice in your writing. I love it.

    1. I love this comment, Alice. I love how you are always right there with me.

      And don’t you worry — I will keep on having conversations with rocks 🙂 I love them, even when they provide answers I don’t necessarily want to hear.

      Thanks for following this trail of blood, wherever it goes.

Thoughts? I love those.

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