There Was No Funeral

One of my favorite poems:
"This Woman"
by Alysia Harris

The line that gives me chills and fills my eyes up with tears:

"To all the women who have been

Pried open,

Propped up,

And Jadaposed:

I'm sorry

There was no funeral for the going out of your smile

And the coming in of strangers."

No, there was no funeral. There was no funeral, and for years, there was no recognition. I was reminded that the louder I yelled, the more worthless I was underneath my insistence that I. WAS. WORTH. SOMETHING.

I dreamed about strangers who would quietly peel off my armor, look at me, hold me, and see who I am.

Just see me.

Not tell me who I am. Not define me. Just give me some credit.

Strangers who might love me for the blood on my hands and my clothes, might see my life and aspirations as a work in progress, might offer me the soft, quiet benefit of the doubt, the security, the unwavering assurance and peaceful extended arms that would have allowed me to relax, set down my burden, and rest.

just pull it

i thought i wanted You to do and say things that considered me and made me feel wanted and loved

but maybe i only thought i wanted that, while what i really wanted after this much hurt

was for You to just say you had no intention
that You didn't love me
that You wouldn't consider me
just SAY IT

so that Your words and Your actions could finally line up and it would make sense

LYS

The LYS closed. Not a word on its social media. Phone still goes to their normal voicemail. Google JUST updated today. I had planned on spending my christmas money there for some equipment and accessories.

This is the sense grief makes.

Because seven and a half years ago, I was crying at my spinning wheel until 6 in the morning, working on 4 ounces of rough karakul from them, unable to stand up from the pain in my abdomen. I was admitted to the hospital for emergency surgery. I missed the only spin in and fiber bar I had ever planned to go to, bent over and bleeding in the ER. The grief I felt, albeit numbly, at what was going on, wove itself into the disappointment of missing the event. Because even though it seemed frivolous and unimportant - a spin in among friendly people felt like the real world. And I was in some alternate dimension, being infused with morphine, unable to join them, unable to reach their pleasantness or joy. On that day, I was separated from that world, and my grief spun itself a story using the language of something mundane.

A couple of weeks later, I went to a fiber festival and spent the money I would have used on the baby on soft things, pretty things, things that felt like the real world I craved and missed.

That local yarn store was a connection to the life I lost in 2012.

Of course, that's nuts, they are just a business, and businesses close, and I could rarely afford to visit them anyways. I am grateful for the visits I did have.

But I feel alone tonight.

Like my grief lost its voice, and the hum of the wheel feels far away and lonely, and I feel so quiet and just

sad.

The most important building

I was not built

To live in one house

In one city

Watching videos of the outdoors

Looking back at photos of travel

Itching any time I'm behind the wheel

But always coming home

Crying in the driveway

Biting my lip at the feeder light

Hand over the turn signal

Withering away and atrophying

Like a breath dissipating in cold air

Dying like a quiet whisper

Quiet, silence, grace - a betrayal of everything I am

Hushed

Like a cancer

Like a well behaved pet

Like a domesticated woman, in her role

Like a corpse in the grass.

What have I done.

Why have I built this life around me

Like bars on a kennel

Excuses to fade out of the world

While being a good mom

A good wife

A good homemaker

A good leech on finances

A good and distant friend

You can keep without having to maintain.

Look how easy I am to keep!

Look how quiet and obedient!

Unhappy but unwilling to rebel!

Que dulce! Que bien!

Que apropiado.

I Really Want to Come Kick It with You

He stares over my shoulder at his phone while I am curled up on his lap.

He scrolls while I stroke his arm.

I could say,
"I love you"

And he would say,
"But what about me?"