Writing the Way Home

All my life, I've been a writer. I'm not sure what that means exactly, except that I've always written. It seemed a natural course of action to begin chronicling my widowhood only 6 days after Rick killed himself. I took to paper (well, more accurately, I took to screen), because paper always listens without judgment. It's also like a mirror. It shows you what you put there, but in a special light.

Whether poetry or prose, I feel better while I'm writing...and then even better after. I find pieces of myself wedged deep inside of the reservoir of my thoughts...like pieces of broken glass I can put back together, to make a new work of art. I can dip my pen in the well of emotion that waits within...and something happens. Seriously - magic happens.

Writing has gotten me through some seriously bad times, but it's also helped me reflect (I'm a master of self-reflection), allowed me to express joy, and given me an outlet.

There is so much power. I pour it all out of me, but then I get to drink it all back up.

When I think of "home," I think of writing. As long as I can write, I know I'll have a home. 

I wrote this poem a few years ago, but I can't get over how true it rings for me today. Almost precognitive, as though I knew I'd read it now.

Revelation

I jump, jump, jump

From one year to another

A hopscotch game

The numbers getting higher

My feet slap the ground

As I make my way

Patent leather buckled shoes

With lacey socks

Keeping a quick and shaky rhythm

Then

The thud of adulthood

Echoes through my legs

And my high heels

Make the game less quick

But still shaky

My arms keep my balance

As if they are steadying

The air that surrounds me

My eyes seek a safe spot

To land

I lose my footing for a moment

And falter

And in an instant

I am out of the grid

The hopscotch game has ended

I’ve lost

But then I realize

As I see my two feet on the ground

That I can live outside the lines

And exist without jumping

I let my legs adjust

To the security

Of standing on my own two feet

And finally

I can stop only looking down

In order to move in that endless game

Now I can look up…up…up

I do

I see the sun

And know I’ve won

(c) ALB