‘This window needs cleaning,’ I think to myself.
Silent Saturday morning unfolds
before me.
Autumn makes her presence known,
a haphazard scatter, gold
leaves upon verdant lawn …
Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday
Find the complete version here.
:
©2020 Christine Kelly All Rights Reserved
Photo by Ewa Stepkowska on Unsplash
The thought
perches upon my shoulder,
like a sparrow,
quietly undemanding,
yet claiming my attention.
It’s softness and patience
unmoors me,
as time races
past the point I felt certain I’d reach,
the person I’d become …
Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday
Find the complete version here.
:
© 2020 Christine Kelly All Rights Reserved
Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash
Let me
breathe
this once
without thinking, no tears
falling from scrunched up eyes
or lips salty with memory and regret,
the waves having crested …
Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday
Find the complete version here.
:
© 2020 Christine Kelly All Rights Reserved
Photograph: my own
We were never a model couple, until we divorced.
Recently I was told that my ex-husband and I were the perfect examples of how to do divorce right, as if doing it ‘right’ made it more palatable. I’m not sure divorce is ever ‘done right,’ but I admit our uncoupling turned out to be less painful, arduous, and angry than I ever believed it would be. Collaborative divorce was the gateway to this peaceful coexistence.
From day one, the tenure and tenor of our marriage were acrimonious. I had contemplated divorce on several occasions, but never felt it would be the final resolution.
I entered marriage with the highest of hopes after a long-distance courtship that was romantic and replete with long letters and phone calls. Despite its romantic beginnings, my marriage was a difficult one. I was hopeful and maybe little naïve, but I never expected it to be a bed of roses — and it wasn’t, except for the thorns …
Published on Medium: Recovering After a Divorce
Find the complete version here.
:
©Christine Kelly 2020
Autumn color displays
its soul, complex and deep.
Eyes feast upon intricacies,
drama against sullen sky.
November’s grip, winter
chasing sun
sky threatening
eruption, emotion held
to its breast,
since spring came and went.
Intense hue
a taste, pungent;
how it lies upon my tongue
awaiting discovery.
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
A year has passed
since that August morn,
yet it feels like yesterday.
A day beginning like every other day,
only it wasn’t.
I woke, alone,
at peace with the silence and soft
entrance to the day.
I lay there, thinking,
contemplating the end;
twenty-three years of a life
accompanied but not shared.
A half-life,
existing,
stasis all I knew.
A single day bringing all that to an end.
Changes would mount, swiftly,
a hurricane gathering shape
and strength
offshore.
I girded myself for the storm,
open arms and an upturned face
waiting
for the rains to come.
A stinging kiss to remind me
I am alive.
Transformation found in droplet
and deluge
alike.
:
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photograph by Lynne Gee via Flickr
an end that came too soon
full stop on a sentence
beginnings
a storied introduction
mix of joy and pain
knowledge found in a glance
soul an open book
eyes
reflections of this woman
needs, desires
unknown, unacknowledged
without exploration, risk
a voice would have remained
still
silent
no regrets in chances
taken, a belonging
monotone shadow lived
beneath
cast off
each day painted vivid hues
continue to resonate
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
They will go without me, to this place I grew to love. Rugged and wild, it spoke to my deep-seated need to be by the sea; to feel her power and her fury, watching her in awe from a distance.
My children will hike to the top of Bray Head and sit and marvel at the Irish Sea, knowing I am across the water looking back at them from my own perch. But I will miss that hike, through the woods, cool and dark but dappled with occasional sunlight. Eventually we’d make our way out into the open, looking down at the town and looking up to see the cross at the very top of the mountain. A place of pilgrimage.
These memories are vivid, stacked upon each other from each year we created them. A tradition. Each visit different and yet the same. The path was well-worn and my feet knew every inch of it. I never looked down to see where I was going, my eyes were far too busy looking around me to see if anything had changed; drinking in the view as if it were the last time. Two years ago it was. I knew it then and every moment was bittersweet. I devoured those days and I hold them close now. I might return, but not in the same way. This year I will not sit high atop that mountain with the sea hundreds of feet below me. Draped in blessed silence and reverence. White tipped waves rushing over the blue green like horses. I will not take the path along the cliff walk to Greystones, my heart swelling with every step as I am bracketed by the sea to my left and verdant hills alive with gorse on my right.
I will not make those memories this year. I will make new ones. My own.
:
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photographs taken by SirenSong1208
‘This is not a funeral,’ she said,
‘though I’m drowning in carnations.’
There are no condolence cards
or whiskey toasts
to memory,
only the sad nod of head
as a story becomes too familiar to all
and an end that happened long ago
becomes the final chapter
in a story that was told
with only one voice.
:
©SirenSong1208 ~ 2018
Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced
I wish to be on a board in the sun.
The swells of the sea undulating beneath my open thighs
As I scan the horizon
It’s peaceful
And yet exhilarating
My memory is strong
Three summers gone
The board is long
And unwieldy
As I am not used to its length
Or weight
It was purple and white
I recall an intense feeling of excitement
Building within
One for the bucket list
A girl of the sea
I had always been
But had never taken the plunge
And ridden the waves before
At least
Not on my feet
The adrenaline that I feel
Being tossed and turned by
The ocean’s current
Should frighten me
Make me more cautious
But I’m addicted to that high
The way it makes me feel
Invincible
When I emerge from the surf
Smiling
And breathless
But balancing upon fiberglass
And the power of the sea
That was a new test
As with everything new
I was focused
As well as thrilled and nervous
But I was all in
And all in it turned out to be
I’d ride the waves to the shoreline
Flying off into the water
Before I made land
Laughing and paddling out to try once more
Except for that last time…
Like every other attempt
I caught the swell
And rode the wave to shore
But that final time it came faster
The surging current swiftly moving inland
Like a bullet train
And I was caught off guard
My board hit the sand
Flinging me off
Pitching me face first into the sand
A horrifying sight I’m sure
To those sitting there
I managed to stand up
Sand in my mouth
And my head ringing from the impact
Not realizing the damage I had done
The wounds caused
And just how lucky I had been
But despite the danger
Despite what happened
The lure to ride those waves again
Tugs at me
As the ocean does to the shore
:
*Continuing with my (apparent) aquatic theme, this is not new but from two summers past. And the lure still tugs at me.
©SirenSong1208
Photo taken from Pinterest
