Spring Forward (Pt. 2)

The lightness, it's unbearable, how does it get you every time? We sat in Tompkins Square park this afternoon and I think my face was made of sunshine, I think my heart was made of cotton candy, I think

the long dark winter may be over and I made it out alive. 

The evening was long, and in no rush to end. Long washes of pink against the blue sky, cool breeze through the window and it's like I haven't been tired in years. I wake before dawn, that's not the rules, but I am ready to break them now. He sends pictures of cirrus clouds against a Manhattan backdrop and I have never loved anything more in my entire life. 

My darling, we made it through. You buckled, and I did not leave you. I crumbled, but you are still here. It's been a long, cold lonely winter, but we are here now. Hold on a little longer. 

Everything is going to be okay.

Whisky Sour

(When I say I'm going to make it, it's only to
convince myself, it's
only a mantra to
keep my nerves steady for one more
day
to keep
the breaths going in
and out of my
lungs until
they'll do it on their own
again
I know it gets old
to hear
believe me
In my bones
the words are
ancient.)

When I Mean Turn Out the Light

The bird chatter dives deep into my unconscious, pecking its way into my dreams, is there a sweeter way to wake than a mild breeze on your cheek, windows wide open, all of life unfurling ahead of you? She says she's packing her bags, says I'll see you soon, and it's almost, almost possible that she means it. It's been years since there was the slightest kindling resembling hope at your fingertips, you caress it now like a frail baby bird, afraid you'll scare it off. You try to get through the day's to-do list, but the seedlings vibrating in the ground send tingles up your spine, you know the whole world around you is quietly buzzing, waiting for the right moment to burst. 

Just a little longer now.

We'll be fireworks again.

Impoverish

The season flits back and forth, sunny afternoons giving way to freezing nights, every day you dress wrong. I wake in shivers or sweats. 

Each light day must - it seems - be followed by one with the weight of the universe on your shoulders. You stare into the future and ask again how one is meant to live an entire life. Just that. Do people have the answer, and I am ignorant? The flowerbeds along the river are bursting now, tickling with life and waiting for the signal. I count the serotonin in my piggybank. 

Wonder how to stretch it
decades still

and coming up
emptyhanded.

Creative Mornings

Early mornings in March, icy winds down First Avenue as I run to catch a train that refuses catching, we've forgotten the rhythm, the motion of arrival, the remnants of sake lapping the sides of my temples. We get to Brooklyn right on time, sun shining, friendly faces incredulous about the prospect of meeting in person, it's the closest to hope I've come in years. Strange premonitions lie on this day, you mourn the optimism of your previous self, but you are not down for hte count just yet. 

There is creativity left in your veins, yet, there is witty banter at tiny East Village bars, words to write, flowers to see, it's been a long cold lonely winter but you are still here. 

Start there. 

Take it wherever you can.

Emerge

I wake early, prickles of dawn rising over the brick building to the east, streets quiet but the trees rampant with jubilee. Make my way across Tompkins Square Park before my limbs are quite awake but chest heaving with manic breath, I gulp it down like I can't get enough, like I have hungered for months - and the truth, of course, is that I have. The scents return, of warming asphalt, of daffodils in slender shoots along the dog run, of New York rising. Yesterday I cried at everything, the immensity of life hinted in each little interaction, each scene, and I was not sorry. Nearly two years have past since the end of the world, and we have not yet begun to put the rubble behind us, look back to see what we've gone through. We are still clawing our way out. 

But I am beginning to see the light between the masses, my dear. I have begun to see a spring, a sliver of hope, I have seen the daffodils shoot from the earth, I have opened my windows wide now, my dear, I know it is early yet, but

All of life begins with a sliver.

Martius

I know there's no difference between yesterday and today, I hear myself say, but everything feels different. I watch the sun rise over March, feel the air return to my lungs. Did I make it out alive? Each step is too delicate, too precarious, like the rug can be pulled out from under us at any time, like winter is only one slip away. He writes to say maybe I'm being overly brave and all I can think is

this is the time
for it.