Lived Ink

My physiotherapist is spending time with COVID. His replacement tries, but fails and fails to make sense of the chaos (illness and injury and time) carves in my flesh and bone.

My jaw is howling. The throb turns thought to storm, leaves me stumbling for rhyme or reason or relief in a winter forest that knows no respite or spring or poetry.

My chronic illness monster’s demanding another tooth.  

But…

my new OCD therapist has superpowers: she knows how to cackle, understands why the sight of rust leaves my body and mind quaking but playing with dirt soothes my soul.

My Piano Man says he has 13, 31, or 39 kisses for me.

And I cackle.

when the world is dark,
I taste full moon memories—
lived ink on my tongue

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #13: Words on the 13^th (where a rather attractive, intelligent, and extremely modest woman invites all participants to share poetry or prose which includes at least 3 of the following 13 words: bone, night, chaos, moon, forest, rhyme, tongue, storm, tell-tale, howl, winter, echo, dirt).

Succulent Wisdom

not-quite Journaling, 29

 a wee leaf
springs gigantic hope
in winter

1/22/2022: these days, when the whole world can’t help but frown in horror, we must share (and nurture) anything that makes the wretchedness a bit less bleak. Seeing new growth does it for me (Schlumbergera, Crassula Tetragona, and Peperomia from top to bottom).

 

1/23/2022: I took this photo during a surprise summer storm, which forced me to bring my plants inside the house at the very last minute. Seeing the last passion and sun flowers of the season takes me back to the warmth of summer, to rain playing music on my windows, to wind howling the same tune… All this reminds me that storms can turn our lives messy (and create beautiful memories, too).

 

Succulent wisdom:
when well loved, the broken
succulent won’t wither or die;
each break grows more succulent.
So, let’s be succulent and grow,
grow all our pieces into a wholed
garden.

1/27/2022: I received a couple of Crassula Rupestris cuttings from England. My post office made a mess of things. The cuttings were bent or broken… I was not happy—especially since they had been so well packaged. But the post office apologized (I was surprised too *cough*). I cut the cuttings at the bends and planted the pieces. And a few weeks later, they’re rooting (and I’m rooting for them!).

 

Breathe…
close your eyes, my Love, see
inside yourself… notice all
hurts and scars and lessons
and craft yourself lived armor.
Breathe… then fight!

1/28/2022: This bit, titled “In Front of the Mirror” popped into my head, after I saw a blackout, I crafted in 2020 (2^nd picture). I can’t remember what inspired the original. Maybe I was trying a bit of meditation… since all my meditation sessions tend to conclude with me growling and showing my teeth—very relaxing (for me).

 

in winter,
bare branches (and I)
dream of spring

2/2/2022: According to Punxsutawney Phil, we are supposed to have six more weeks of winter. Since everything looks rather snowy at the moment, I’m inclined to believe him. Still, it’s warming to continue dreaming spring dreams. 

I love you
weird and wild,
just like me.

 2/3/2022: in case you were wondering.


- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #12: Colour—or the Absence of Colour.