Poetry, short prose, & general musings.
To be somewhere
With a history
A presence that has grit
Memories that linger
Ghosts both friendly and haunting
Sitting on a porch swing
Meeting someone for the first time
Hugging them goodbye
As if you’ve known them forever
A person who asks your child their name
Looks them in the eye
And actually remembers, cares.
The connections between people
That is what will hold us fast
That is what will keep us from falling apart.
The train wreck is too hard to watch
The conversation too difficult to engage
Relentless patterns that repeat and repeat
Wear me thin until I break
What does it mean to stay?
What does it say if I leave?
I long to do what’s right
But right for who, exactly?
I do not live in isolation
Inertia is my master.
How much simpler
To be alone-
Yet how empty.
I recall a quote from a beloved story:
“Happiness is only real when shared.”
She finds herself standing in an open field. A small, country road behind her, a vast space in front of her, filled with corn stalks recently harvested. The remaining short stubs jut up in rows, a sad reminder of their former glory. The soybeans have not yet been taken up, their light brown fronds swaying in the cool October air. They are nearly dry, calling to be removed and allowed to sink back into the earth.
A murder of crows caws loudly above, breaking the stillness. In some way the birds feel like an omen, a reminder that she cannot outrun this place or it’s memories. She no longer wants to run. She longs to rediscover some identity that has been lost- the girl who grew up in this place. She cannot have the good memories without the bad. The beauty and hurt of this place swirls around her.
She remembers something a yoga instructor said about feeling your feet plant into the ground. She pushes the soles of her feet into the soil and closes her eyes. An ache in her chest grows and she outstretches her arms and cranes her neck to face the sky. Maybe if she feels the soft, wet earth under her and the breeze flowing through her finger tips, listen to the branches swaying – she will find that girl again.
My girl, you can soar
Through the future air.
A beauty to behold
In your new found glory.
Your deep roots of the past
Feel like a net, strangling, binding
Pulling you down and back.
As you strain beyond them
They call to you
A reminder of the beginning
A calling to humility
Old friendships
To those who knew
The first version of you.
So darling, you will go
Just don’t forget who taught you to fly.
Kacie B. Sharpe 