Screechy-yellow
Bright light
Squinting into you
I ache
Deep inside
I have a lovehate
Relationship with you.
Somewhere in late july or early august
When my sunblock-shopping-sprees are maxed...
You wile me
into believing you are safe and
Cozy and warmhearted (and sexy).
Morph my freckle
Into a cancerous lump and
I
WILL
slityourthroat
With my shiny, shiny pocket
Sword.
Oh, be-nign-baby...
be mine (benign).
jennryan2010
23 June 2010
17 June 2010
In honor of...
The other day as I clicked to “Like” my alma mater’s ‘fan page’, I read a friend’s post which heiroglyphed an “RIP” on the electronic footprint of the page, it was in honor of a woman who attended college at the same time that we did.
I attended a small, private, Midwestern, liberal arts college in the 1990’s, and although I did not know this woman very intimately, we shared friends and classes in common, and in particular, I remember her bright eyes, exuberant smile, and a laugh, that would make most any heart sing.
After reading about her death, I inquired further and learned that sadly, a number of tragic circumstances including the loss of her mother, the loss of her home, financial complexities, and other personal problems had all contributed to her untimely demise. In fact, she intentionally took her life, in a somber act of suicide.
In the moment of recognition of what this young woman had determined to do, I mentally stepped into her shoes, and looked around, trying to imagine the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness that she must have been overwhelmed with. I saw a grey smoky haze, hanging all around. It was murky, heavy, dim. As I inhaled, a sputtery cough began deep in my esophagus and it was difficult to breathe.
Card-catalogue drawers of thoughts careened through my mental space, recalling loss—the loss of family, of friends—both naturally and by their own hand. Recalling financial woes—paycheck-to-paycheck living, blocks of government cheese eaten as a child; my own experience with foreclosure and in the ‘difficult personal problems’ category, tragic decisions such as terminating a fetus.
In the seconds it took to step into her shoes, to take a few steps in the reality that she may have experienced, treading lightly on the memory of my own war story, I wondered why it was that she chose to go, and I chose to stay?
For even in loss and failure and utter chaos; even when overwhelmed with embarrassment or hasty decisions, the ramifications of which might haunt me a life long, I stood tall. I stayed earthbound. I am here.
Thank goodness.
In honor of the beauty that was this woman’s center, her soul; I salute her. I raise high, my heart-of-hearts, and send an unequivocally unwavering sweet gesture, holding space for all that she was and is now, free, spread far and wide across the universe.
So too, do I honor the memory of all the sweet hearts who have gone before... Mary* today is the anniversary of her death, Roseanne, Daniel, Arthur, Russell... there are too many names to type here... they are all here, in my heart.
*Picasso's 'Dove' seems appropriate to leave here today, for all soaring souls...
I attended a small, private, Midwestern, liberal arts college in the 1990’s, and although I did not know this woman very intimately, we shared friends and classes in common, and in particular, I remember her bright eyes, exuberant smile, and a laugh, that would make most any heart sing.
After reading about her death, I inquired further and learned that sadly, a number of tragic circumstances including the loss of her mother, the loss of her home, financial complexities, and other personal problems had all contributed to her untimely demise. In fact, she intentionally took her life, in a somber act of suicide.
In the moment of recognition of what this young woman had determined to do, I mentally stepped into her shoes, and looked around, trying to imagine the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness that she must have been overwhelmed with. I saw a grey smoky haze, hanging all around. It was murky, heavy, dim. As I inhaled, a sputtery cough began deep in my esophagus and it was difficult to breathe.
Card-catalogue drawers of thoughts careened through my mental space, recalling loss—the loss of family, of friends—both naturally and by their own hand. Recalling financial woes—paycheck-to-paycheck living, blocks of government cheese eaten as a child; my own experience with foreclosure and in the ‘difficult personal problems’ category, tragic decisions such as terminating a fetus.
In the seconds it took to step into her shoes, to take a few steps in the reality that she may have experienced, treading lightly on the memory of my own war story, I wondered why it was that she chose to go, and I chose to stay?
For even in loss and failure and utter chaos; even when overwhelmed with embarrassment or hasty decisions, the ramifications of which might haunt me a life long, I stood tall. I stayed earthbound. I am here.
Thank goodness.
In honor of the beauty that was this woman’s center, her soul; I salute her. I raise high, my heart-of-hearts, and send an unequivocally unwavering sweet gesture, holding space for all that she was and is now, free, spread far and wide across the universe.
So too, do I honor the memory of all the sweet hearts who have gone before... Mary* today is the anniversary of her death, Roseanne, Daniel, Arthur, Russell... there are too many names to type here... they are all here, in my heart.
*Picasso's 'Dove' seems appropriate to leave here today, for all soaring souls...
08 June 2010
Playing catch
Last evening was spent with most of my immediate family as we watched my eldest nephew play a game of baseball. The age range spanned 56 years, the stories in those years, varied, colorful, tragic, irreverent...
A small, sweet, chilled-early-June moment that stood out involved a game of catch between an energetic (albeit allergic) five year old boy and his grandpa--playing a simple game of catch with a lime green tennis ball--furry and buoyant in the blue skied air.
A spitfire of sorts, the little guy cocked his arm, aimed, and drilled the ball.
It careened away from his body, the trajectory off course, and collided, suddenly, with a thud, against the temple of a young mother, also present to watch the 'big boys' baseball game in the ball field behind this little game of catch.
Stunned, she jumped, as the ball merely grazed her temple and designer sunglasses, she turned to see that it was a furry, green tennis ball; NOT, perchance, the squishy, furry flesh of one of the millions of tent worms/gypsy moths which have over run our lovely Northern Michigan foliage of late.
She grinned, laughed aloud, and the little guy chirped with a frenzied, emotional clatter of response, "OOH, SORRY!!!"
A small, sweet, chilled-early-June moment that stood out involved a game of catch between an energetic (albeit allergic) five year old boy and his grandpa--playing a simple game of catch with a lime green tennis ball--furry and buoyant in the blue skied air.
A spitfire of sorts, the little guy cocked his arm, aimed, and drilled the ball.
It careened away from his body, the trajectory off course, and collided, suddenly, with a thud, against the temple of a young mother, also present to watch the 'big boys' baseball game in the ball field behind this little game of catch.
Stunned, she jumped, as the ball merely grazed her temple and designer sunglasses, she turned to see that it was a furry, green tennis ball; NOT, perchance, the squishy, furry flesh of one of the millions of tent worms/gypsy moths which have over run our lovely Northern Michigan foliage of late.
She grinned, laughed aloud, and the little guy chirped with a frenzied, emotional clatter of response, "OOH, SORRY!!!"
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