Wednesday, October 9, 2024

Proof That I Have a Heart

Hello friends! I have missed you. I can't believe it's been ten whole years. There is SO much to catch you up on. 

I want to catch you up on happier things, but I was looking through some of the poetry I've written since I took a pause on blogging and focused on my fiction writing (more on that in a future post!). 

Here is a poem I wrote about dating after divorce. I am sorry it is sad! I wrote this five (?) years ago and am in a much better place now. If anyone else is going through this, it does get better, I promise. 

Proof That I Have a Heart

Sometimes I forget I have a heart.

It sits, rusting, inside my tin chest,

As I go about my everyday,

Pretending I’m all armor and bones,

Never sinew and flesh.

 

Everything is doing,

Never feeling.

 

I check off boxes, 

I feed children and get the mail

And rake the yard.

 

Once in a blue moon,

I go on a date. 

 

I always curl my hair,

And I laugh in my most lighthearted way

And touch his arm at all the right moments.

 

But once in a while,

One of these Tourist-dates

Breaks in,

 

Or perhaps I give away the location of the key,

Otherwise hidden in a tangle of overgrown brush?

 

I’m never ready for this thing

That happens next, 

No matter how many times it occurs. 

 

I think—oh! I’ll just give him a tour

Of the castle. 

 

I forget there’s a rusted heart

In the center court,

Because on regular days,

We, the castle folk,

Go about our business, 

Hardly noticing it’s there.

 

In my way, I think that letting him in

Won’t change a thing!

He’ll pay his five pounds fifty,

He’ll watch the servants bustling to and fro—

And then leave.

After all, he says he has 

always wanted to see this place.

 

But in reality, the second he 

Turns the key in the rusted lock,

The heart feels exposed there,

On the rock,

In its meager cage of aged iron

And rusted bolts. 

 

I forget that hearts notice

Strangers,

That they beat faster

When we let someone in

The gate,

No matter how secure

We think a heart is

In its cage,

No matter how long it has been

Since we have felt it

Stir.

 

And then things happen as they always do.

He wants to see the gallery,

Where the light slants across the paintings

Of my forefathers.

 

Then he wants to climb the tower,

Where the ancient arms of a clock touch the hours,

Where gears whir and spin.

 

But most of all, he

Wants to see the treasure room,

Where everything is locked away.

 

We (nobles and commoners alike) think it will be fine to let him in.

We like it when he runs his hand over

The gold, glinting in the torchlight, because we

Think he sees the beauty in what we’ve been

Saving and protecting

For so long.

 

We don’t know 

(Despite how many times this has happened)

That he’s not a connoisseur of these things,

He’s actually just an idle tourist,

Filling his bags with souvenirs--

With things we never meant to give away.

 

When he goes,

We’re as stoic as ever,

Closing the gate behind him with a bright smile

And lots of exclamation points!

 

But he avoids our eyes.

He will be back soon

But

Maybe don’t plan on a specific day

?

These things are hard to pin down.

He adjusts the satchel on his back

Like it’s already too heavy for him

To carry. 

 

It isn’t until he’s gone that it strikes,

The spreading pain,

The blur of movement inside the cage.

 

Why is it only when we feel it ache

That the heart seems so real?

 

Why is it that something has to be taken

From us

To make us feel?

 

I rest my head against the door

For the longest time,

In the moonless courtyard,

The key held tight in my palm.

I try not to feel the way the iron

Burns into my caged heart,

Try to remind myself that this pain

 

Means that I’m not just a tin man or a robot who

Shows wandering tourists into a soulless

Cave.

 

This fortress was built to contain 

This heart, after all,

Wasn’t it?

I take it out of its rusted cage 

For the first time in years

And hold it,

Beating,

In my two hands. 

 

I’ll think twice about how I screen these

Fellows, I promise it,

(a promise I’ve made before)--

 

These idle tourists,

These strangers-

Turned-thieves.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Update





Dear friends,

I'm sorry I have been away so long!  A lot has happened in my life since I blogged last.  I finished a middle grade novel that I will be submitting soon.  I will be transitioning this blog from a parenting blog to one primarily related to books (with some personal tidbits every now and then).  I hope you will follow along!  I will be sharing book reviews and fun side-stories I created while I worked on my middle grade novel, The Shadowlands.  Did you know, in the Shadowlands there are fairies who love math?  I hope you'll join me and bring your kids along! 

By the way, isn't this copy of Bleak House delicious?  And who wouldn't write a little better when surrounded by Jane Austen quotes?  (while eating tacos?) 

By the way #2, I had so much fun writing my novel!  I was able to weave in some really fun literary themes and references.  When you read it, see if you can spot Bleak House!

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Funeral Potatoes

This post isn't really about funeral potatoes.  I just wanted to make sure you're still awake!

Readers, I have missed you!  I have been off having a miserable divorce, thank you very much.

I have missed connecting with you and having a place to verbally vomit all of the things that are swimming around in my head at all times!  I have so many goals to share, and ways I want to improve!  I personally kind of hate January, but I love resolutions, and I'm trying hard to find things I can like about January. 

Do you like January? What makes it bearable for you? Also, dear readers, please let me know what I can do to catch you up on our lives since I posted last. What do you want to know? Hugs to all.