I can be a part of you for only a little while.

It’s strange what goodbyes do to you.

It may seem like a word or two, perhaps a hug. But the difficult part is that they involve people. Humans. And whenever those are involved.. whew.. things get messy quick.

I’ve been in this place now for approximately 3 months and 15 days. Just enough time to become a familiar face, to get past the awkwardness to those deep-bellied laughs, to fall in love..

I have those feelings of anticipation to be home, of course, but currently they’re pretty swallowed up by fear of what will happen once I get there. Change is definitely a scary thing. I think I’ve forgotten my place back home. I know where I fit here, even if I don’t like it, at least I know.

Leaving can’t be easy in any way, I’ve decided. Even for me, who’s felt so uncomfortable in this place and has had a homecoming countdown on her phone since the first day.  It’s like having one foot in two places.
Actually, it might be like not having feet at all.
Not like you have to use your feet to jump from one place to a different one, but instead, your feet don’t go to either place. There’s no feet because there’s no movement. You’re just sitting, stagnant. You’re left with a lot of second-guessing. How good was home again? Who’s waiting for me there? Maybe I don’t fit in either location. Maybe I’m still searching for where I’m supposed to be in and all these others still aren’t them.

Even worse, what sort of goodbye am I going to give to these people who now have a part of me, and I of them? How do you sum up over 3 months of laughs and conversations and thankfulness to these humans in a moment? I only have a moment before the cab takes me away. Just one. And how do I begin?

Months ago, at one of my first visits to the stream that became a savior for me during this season, I wrote while standing on the banks watching the water move continuously onward. The words I wrote were, “There’s nothing I can give to this, I can only be apart of its life for a little while.” I was talking about the water rushing over the rocks, the leaves as little boats on their hurried mission. It was all so perfect without me. So utterly perfect, and I had nothing to do with it. I couldn’t even bother it severely. It would continue whether I liked it or not. Perhaps now, even though I have impacted these sweet ones some, they will continue. I can only be apart of them for a time, but ultimately, they’re going to continue in the way they will go, and so will I. We only got to have one another for a season, and for that season, I am thankful.

There’s so much more to say here, and I’m afraid these words I’ve left don’t make much sense and are especially disorderly. But they’re the one’s I have. I needed to get them out of the way so I could go back to my studying.

gaping

with eyes blinded and arms out in front of myself to try and sense the way toe tapping puddles elbow scrapes ancient words that have fallen from above to this lightless below me feeling anxious feeling just the right size to push through past the hounds baying in the distance to this voice right in front of me speaking sounds of honey that cause question and keep on walking blindfolded into the pebbles on boulders on inverted mountains that grow wider and deeper each day mirrors the gaping holes between these bones.

the cold cuts clearer

she's gone back to her digging

summer's blood died with the leaves
and was trampled underfoot
the night's coming soon
she finds the seeds that permeated never planted
the frail roots are breaking
(no matter how numerous)
the frost's grip is too tight

the bare moon offers no answer
neither from the cracking pine
there were too many witnesses, she worries
but could it even be considered crime

the distance long becomes the distance high
you knew that rain didn't fall for growth
it fell out of fear
now it freezes
and the cold cuts clearer

the wallpaper

Part identical dropping petals and branching stems

from the gaudy floral

Their dots and dashes in congruency

Creating a cohesive mass to drown in

I tip-toe, stretch and

play the game of Operation

but the buzzer sounds and like a piece of flypaper I stick

and they stick back

I’m redrawn into organized layers

of chevron and hound’s-tooth

polka dot rubber to my knees

pin-stripped wax fabric covering my arms

my canvas is covered into a mixture of patterns

that stifle and I just want to be solid.

Like the crop fields of continuous brown or green.

Undisrupted by the interplay of other colors

I prefer to be siphoned by mole holes and

crow's nests

I prefer to be a part, not the whole pattern

Only ravaged by rays of sunlight that bring depth and life to the countryside

Instead of the chaos of order that plagues the rest of this

Tapestry of mess.

schematic schooltalk

words are those clever devices
we skip and drag and tie in knots
and before we’re done with them
spit them out and not expect any spots

that leave a trail giving ourselves away
as we rush and stumble our way back
not feeling surprised we’re made out of clay
still sticking to the ones who’re late for the play

a song, dear, and keep singing loud enough
to drown out the

..clearly words are still causing a fuss.

the prelude ------------>

through the pouring kettle 
tumbling head over feet, we race.
mix a little sea and sky with a smattering of ice
and day will yield to night.
the perpetual sunset presses against us and
shadows spill out like oil
creating sharp, grotesque creatures
that frighten and fight against
what will save us
but our faces have met the sun still
and tasted its honey
as it sinks, momentum gains
under the weight of anticipation
as we wait in expectation

middle-march-autumn

apple picking, indian curry, literature, and feminisim were
just enough before
rain caught and left us breathless
stomping through puddles and
the terrible feeling of incongruency
falls quicker than this storm

they call it the retrograde of mercury
the turn of tides and planets
of things I don't understand
is there any difference from those far-off
and of these held in my hand?