Tongues at work. Talk Today
She could did for an hour or more.
My first her, who gave me words.
Then at the end, before, merely Oh!
A moment of ... of more, perhaps.
Oh sweet and blessed could be.
Oh my soul
Soul slept, called in sick.
Late sun clouds
the lake with clouds.
Katydid down
to -did -did.
Nothing to be done.
Little sun, quarter moon.
--Martha Collins, 3 & 4 from Over Time
I was off. Something between my center and heart and throat felt disconnected. The clock said 11:07 a.m and I counted out loud, 12,1,2,3..., and then I thought about tomorrow and next week and all the weeks.
The stillness. The way the sunlight pushes through the sheer white curtains as the wind pushes them out and pulls them back against the wall, suspended. For a few seconds the cricket's ticking, and then silence. Car sounds and tines clinking on porcelain.
I take a walk around the house, pausing in front of quirky curated scenes like two Power Rangers facing each other circled by mini plastic fish and crabs. A big jet, half built, Lego manual open wide. One sock. Three books on the stairs. Two unmade beds.
I sit down and feel the disconnect again. They are not here.
But they are there, happy. Oh, they are full of joy this week. Back with old friends and familiar faces, learning new teachers and friends. They seem relieved and excited. And it is impossible, yet possible in just four days Sully - my baby child - seems way older.
One minute is surreal. Another minute is real.
I rolled my bike out of the garage, hopped on and peddled hard. I pushed until I felt the knot release from my insides, until I could feel my breath again. I rode to the library and back, looking behind me twice out of habit - no kids in the bike lane.
I know what this is. It is grief. Allowing myself to process the end of another phase that has defined and grounded my life. But it is gratitude, too. It is stuck in my throat and on my heart. It is still wet on the washcloth they used this morning. It's on our kissing hands.
I am here - fully accepting all of it. Slowly and surely, I am learning what to do with this divine light.
