“full is not heavy”
presentation done
head opening, body melts
i heave relief. deep.
mind hits heart hits core
comfort,done tires, too, but
full is not heavy
Buddhist class teaches
anger is your creation
yours to stop then, too
You can’t purify
old hurts that pull from merit
’til you stop the now.
baby steps can be
quite rocky, and yet they are
the most important
for more Washwords’ (and friends) haikus see Haiku You
I’m honeymooning.
Not literally. Yes, we’re planning our fabulous England/Scotland honeymoon (Bath – York – Edinburgh – highlands – glasgow-london. heee!) but that’s not what I mean.
Life is sweet –even when I’m tired and work is… work and it’s too hot and/or too cold (jon stewart’s line: hits by grandma, featuring “Its suffocatingly hot” and the B side, “now I’m too cold”) and the grass isn’t mowed and we have to do laundry and grocery shop and the car has a rumble… there’s a peace and a beauty I’ve not felt in so long… maybe ever.
It’s making you a sandwich though you say you’re fine, because I know it’s what you need; it’s you telling me “I got it” and that I know you do. It’s watching you write out cards and scroll through books and spreadsheets and maps, for us; and merging those cards with my own. It’s yard-saling, the perfect rhythm of my energy for selling and yours for packing and clearing. It’s walking with weights and strolling with woofs, our steps and words echoing as we move.
It’s holding my niece, crayons in one fist, new shirt I bought her dragged along in the other, playing in the grass and breezes, hearing her hearty laugh.
It’s friends, who sail in and out, but are there, always.
It’s working out physically in the gym and emotionally at meditation and feeling change if not seeing it quite yet.
So there’s still the orange line, the pointy bags, the close talkers. And there’s still work and trying to prove myself and help others thrive and learn. And there’s undone blogs, and “nights” I fall asleep at 4 p.m., and the missed opportunity of a deal unsnagged, but still…
there is still and peace and calm and… love.
I get the Express every day, folded in gloved hand, the Ballston guy hands in syncopated rhythm, “hello, beautiful;thank you darlin, here you go hon,” fwip, fwip, fwip, the papers fly hand to hand to hand. “thank you sir,” I say. every day. in harmony with the clipping shoes, spreading umbrellas, buttoning coats.
[“Stormy Personalities” by Fu Man Jew on flickr]
I take out my metrocard in one hand, folded paper in the other, pull out pen, and begin.
I might flip through the paper – if there’s a picture of the president or news that’s not alarming or mundane, but quickly i get to it: the crossword.
I like the feel of blue marker ink spreading over newsprint, letters into squares, into clues, into words until the grid is complete. I try to do them by the time I reach the office, and definitely by the time I reach home.
Then I send it to recycle bin and wait for morning to begin. again.
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