Where she lives now.

August 23, 2017 candacemorris 0 Comments

I feel myself coming back to life,
if that's what you want
to call it. Life.

Seems like a massive stretch.
I resist and resent it.
I don't want to start putting the broken pieces back together
When your physical form isn't one of those pieces.
I'd rather stay shattered.

I said I could never go on
without you; here I am
though.
Going on.

I scry into this crystalline ball of murk,
a cocktail of guilt, anxiety, exhaustion, and excitement.

There are a lot of faces here.
They speak.
Where is mine? Where is my voice? Will I find it
without you here, megaphoning my voice back to me always
Gently holding, fiercely protecting, lovingly knowing
my desperate, soul-shattering need for solitude.

I scry into the eyes of women
new and old
and see such deep, knowledgeable, wild
pain. So comforting, reassuring
that you are still close.

My spirit rages against my ribs, tearing its own flesh since it has no garment to shred from its corpus.
But the anger has also taken a rest.
Now the fear, the fear that as the days go by, you'll begin to fade.
Writing that last line, "you'll begin to fade"' that's what finally got me crying again, after days and days.

I keep thinking about the title of a book that I might read.
"After the Ecstasy, the Laundry."
The what's next after we shared a moment standing at the veil and you held my face before you parted the curtain and said, "Find me in your imagination. I will always live there."

I took your hands, blew into them my owlwind, and trilled for you. Releasing you, yelling go.

And then you slipped through a white, gauze-like curtain.
But I lied, I didn't want you to go. I don't want you to go.
Please, don't go.

You did.
So now what?
Nowthefuckwhat?



The tears, after days of dryness.
Sweet, welcome
waterbathbaptism
The tears remind me of your hands again
holding my face.
And pointing me inward
to the you and me that is not under threat, scrutiny, admiration, interpretation, or definition.

"Find me in your imagination," you whisper again.
I ask the deck, where the fuck do you live now?
She says back "in your imagination."

So you've taken up residence in the most creative space of my inner self. Okay.

Truth sayer,
Miracle maker,
Heart breaker,
Death slayer,
I hear you. I hear you with my ancient owl heart and repeat it back.

Pursue yourself.
Pursue yourself.
Pursue yourself.
Pursue yourself.

That's where you live now.

-crm