Sometimes I write poetry about things I see. I don’t do much editing. I allow the part of my heart that is touched to flow from my body onto paper. Tonight I saw something remarkable and rare.
I saw a man reading to his elderly disabled wife…they were probably about 80.
This is what I wrote:
(I recorded the poem, you can listen to it here >> My Favorite Book…)
My favorite book…
Head bowed uncontrollably
As you read lines
From my favorite book.
After all these years
Your voice still shifts
As characters change,
The moment before they kiss…
Because we know they always kiss,
And the moment before he dies…
Your voice always shifts.
Sometimes I miss entire pages
Hoping you know what this means to me.
Not having seen in your eyes in weeks,
and since I can’t figure out
how to use my voice again.
I ponder and try things
But no movement or sound escapes,
Maybe one day…
Especially since the lines
Of my favorite book
And you are always the narrator.
You even always put my favorite shirt on,
The one with purple strips.
God, all the stuff I want to say to you.
Since the accident I only dream in black and white
I can still feel the tingles and warmth of our kisses—
It still annoys me how you say sailboat,
That twang might be the death of me.
And why does it have to be the most used word
Of my favorite book.
Your touch is the same…
Even after all these years—
And things like how in the hell
Do you keep getting more goddamn handsome
As time passes—
And thank you… seriously, thank you.
I wish I could breathe only one more
Breath, so you could move on.
I’m not sure I can handle one more night
Of hearing your cries…
I know this isn’t easy for you.
Well, except this part…
Flipping the last page of the book
You spent years refusing to read.
— Kimberly Johnson
Part of being alone is me really owning what my heart is calling forth for me to put into the world. Writing and poetry, to be more specific, is one of those things. My poetry and how it comes from me is slightly different than most I have seen or heard. I care less about editing and more about capture moments and leaving them raw and in their natural state. When I started writing poetry in this way I was inspired and moved in such a way that I can’t quite describe in words, ironic huh, except it feels real… It is people and things that my eyes see that inspire me. I see something and entire stories, lives, and universes form in my head.
I had this thought this morning as I re-read my poem. What if I had the power to bring love and romance back to the world? The people? The masses?
I know I have the power and is this what I am here to do?
What I do know, is that I am a romantic in every single ounce of my being. I seek romance everywhere. My inability to see the romance in my marriage is what kept me from giving my heart fully to my ex-husband. Now after almost two years of self-exploration I am clear that seeing romance is an awareness and muscle. One that the more I practice and strengthen the more that life feels lit up and beautiful.
I am so curious about romance because it is something that I long for and yearn for yet people and society tell me that it is made up and that it is something that just exists in fairytales and in movies. Some say that it is something that comes with new experiences and people and then it fades away and leaves just like everything else. I do believe nothing is permanent AND what if you saw the world in such a way that everything was seen in love and romance? I have to wonder because I experience romance daily. Romance is real. It lives. I see it everywhere I look… it exits in everything. In how someone glances at you. In how the local barista hands you your cup of coffee. In the way the wind whispers in your ears. In getting lost in a new city you have never explored. In the way my sheets are tangled and ridged after a night of restless sleep.
I remember back to the moments when I used to dread being alone. It felt so sad. It felt so painful. The visceral experience is the same… it feels tight and heavy in my chest, tears stream from my eyes, I slow in my motion. Yet a romance has formed around it because I know that this state is similar to the moon flower, at night or at times it must close up, go inward, and build energy so that it can then reopen and reveal itself to the world.
Maybe I am living in a dream state and one day I will be woken up … and in this moment I will continue to dream and be in bliss as life swirls around me in lines of poetry.
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