They Hold Hands and She Realizes a New Love

Well I may not be much of a poet, but I love it. I never knew I loved it until recently. By recently, I mean since Joel has been gone. Sometimes, over the past 15 years or so, a poem would flow out onto my journal pages, but it never occurred to me until a few years ago to read poetry, to study poetry (and poets), to write more poetry in a conscious effort to maybe become a poet (that one obviously still hasn't stuck, but it's a good goal, right?).

In eighth grade, eight of us were chosen to be in a special advanced reading program that the school was piloting; we would study different aspects of literature or writing each quarter, each time with a different teacher. I can pinpoint the last day of Poetry class with the very strict, no-nonsense and no-fun teacher, rumored to be an ex-nun (think ruler slapping on the desks...at least it wasn't our knuckles), as the day I joyfully told myself I would never have to read poetry again.

And I never gave poetry another thought.

But then Joel left. And now, more and more, out of the blue, I write poems in my journal. No thought about it beforehand, I would just sit down to write as usual, and it would come out as a poem. If a writer wants to be a writer, he or she must share their writings with others. No matter how lousy the story, a writer must write and they must eventually share what they write with others. If a poet wants to be a poet...

Here's another one that came to me on February 15, the day Joel left. A-gain. He had only been with us for four days (per usual), for the Daddy-Daughter Dance. Still no answer from the higher ups he spoke with on January 9. We thought for sure he'd be home for it, but finally, paying double the price because we waited so long in the hopes that he would be driving, he bought another plane ticket to come home.

And leave.

A-gain.

Now the difference here, about this poem, is that it came to me, but I didn't write it down, because I have so much going on right now. But it wouldn't leave me. So I wrote the gist of it quickly, knowing I would later write it as a poem. That's a first. I mean, that conscious effort, that I would write my thoughts as a poem rather than in a journaling format. I'm getting there...
Keep this in mind for yourself, too. It doesn't have to be writing. Whatever it is for you, that thing you have a passion for, that thing that makes you forget all sense of time, that thing that you have loved doing since you were a child...start doing it! And if you already are doing it, but you are not sharing it with others--put it out there! Just try it. I guarantee it will be the scariest and hardest thing you do, but it will also be the most joyful and satisfying work of your life. And just like anything else, you will have to work your ass off, for years maybe, before you are good enough to get recognition from the outside world, but that won't matter; once you start, you will never want to go back.

So here, I expand my writing genres to include some mediocre poetry (really, I have no idea; maybe it's worse than mediocre, maybe it's better; for now, I don't care, I only know that I love it and I want to keep working at it to improve my overall skills as a writer.):

They hold hands
Before they
Touch
Or see each other
Their light
Reaches out
A rainbow becoming a beautiful braid
They are intertwined

He is on a plane
Again
She is in a car
But they see
feel
Their plait of light, connecting, entangling

She looks up
Knows it is
him
At the exact moment
He looks down to
see her
car
They hold hands


Driving
only four days
They hold
hands
A physical connection
But their plait is
Undone
Their rainbow braid disentangled
disconnected

pooled at their feet

Less painful than the
Sudden sever
At the airport
Again
They hold hands

They kiss
Hug
They are in love
But already
Gone
From each other
Until
Next
Time
When
They hold hands
Again



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