This was a difficult week, anxiety-wise. My hyperacusis has been largely flaring, which has lent my surroundings a rough-edged, screaming feel—perhaps not the best environment in which to create, nor even to exist in peace. I feel raw. And so, I had an enormous craving to write a poem today that was not flashing lights and gunshots in the distance—but something soft. Lovely and loving. I hope I have fulfilled that.
There are better things coming next week—we are unveiling Half Mystic's new website & welcoming staff members & making other announcements, all of which I am so very excited to share on the blog. Also, journal publications galore. It is all well.
But for now, all of these exciting-yet-exhausting things will wait. Here is a poem with a quiet voice. I hope that it soothes your week, if you too have had a rough one. And I hope that you enjoy it, as ever.
Happy Friday, loves.
After the Wanting
Your hands on my hands, not out of obligation.
The world which is warm in the way of things
that make homes out of nothingness, and the sky
which is soft with beginning.
Prelude to the only voicemail
I have ever wanted to check:
you, hesitant in knowing. A phone line tethering us
through another shade of dreaming. Girl
who looked at me with truths that did not need to be said.
Girl who is saying them anyway.
I am learning of who I am in the absence of longing.
The hitch on your breath and
the motions we are moving through for the first time,
which are so much like remembering.
Something right in the unfurling of my body
and how it curls towards yours across static. Parallel
in the way of geese which know each other’s flight
like they know the sky’s open arms. A sigh
that sounds like finally. That sounds like
worth the wait.