I don’t need dinner with steak, more pearls to keep tucked away, or a dozen red roses to know I’m loved.
Who decided on twelve anyway? Why not a bundle of seven to make it interesting so I can ask what it means, and you can say, “because I love you all seven days of each week.” . Or how about a rose for the number of times you had to reach for my hand just yesterday to reassure me in my whirling you are my safe place.
This morning there isn’t pressure besides the tea party we throw for our girls this breakfast. You refill my coffee, clear the dishes, and then read our daughters’ valentines while I write this love poem you don’t even know about yet.
I don’t need all the fancy in all its bright loud lights to scream what I hear in calm whispers all morning. This comfort we made is loving me just right.
If you’re new here, hi and welcome! Usually after I post a poem, I write a little musing about it, in hopes of starting a coffee shop conversation in this little corner of the internet. So finish your coffee and pull up a chair. Here are some thoughts on yesterday’s poem, “Let’s Talk about the Weather” that was not about the weather and all about the impact of hate.
It’s so much easier to talk about how much we hate the cold (it is preeeetty cold!), but what makes it so much harder to talk about the coldness of hate?
What I do know is this: it snowballs. The snow storm starts in flurries… Aggravated driving because someone is driving too slow, so we give in to rage having its say. Impatient complaints bubble to the surface when the service is too slow. We let ourselves go down the spirals of “Why would she say that?” to each other, and not to her, spotlighting her ignorance, and our glorious rightness.
Maybe, maybe, we could wait for the answer next time, from the person who said it. Maybe take them out for tacos and hear where they’re coming from. Maybe they’ll ask how it sounded to us, too. We could still disagree, but maybe we’d still enjoy the company.
Honestly? I’m guilty of all this. But I’m determined to watch for the temperature dropping in my own heart, and apologizing when it does. There’s a lot of beauty waiting for us when we say out loud where we were wrong and in our humility, commit to do better next time.
I am pretty sure love and empathy and a huge warm front live right there. ❤️
Anxiety is coming so there’s work to do. Journal, pray, read— stay busy, stay still, breathe and don’t exhale until your throat catches the air. Diffuse wintergreen. Make chamomile tea, and make yourself sweat, but preferably not in that order. Let yourself stand in line at Chipotle. Say yes to extra guacamole. Call your friend and talk about nothing because you can’t really name why your ribs keep clawing so tight.
Tears come because crumbs can’t stay tucked long in corners of the hardwood floor. Exposed and tired— you’re left confused why your tricks aren’t sticking to the script.
Please know, it’s okay. You do what you can, you cancel what you can’t, you stay in child’s pose long after everyone has left.
Peace will come again like the sun and new days. Birds will sing melodies.
For now, you wait for Love’s outreached hand dressed in so many disguises. Trust she’s there even when you’re scared. Know it’s good to need her.