wildflower

for my grandmother, who's lived eighty beautiful years.

i never knew you until you'd grown up.

i was the baby,
the precious being you guarded.

i thought of you as the flower to my butterfly,
as i sat perched on your strong life
too delicate and fragile to fly.

now i wonder about when you were the butterfly.

i wonder about how it feels to support something so small
remembering how it is to be that naive,
knowing how to fix things that haven't broken yet,
but being afraid to clip my wings too short.

who was your flower?
how did their garden of life lead you to grow your own?
how has your garden started the seeds of mine?

all i know is that when i'm ready to fly out from behind the petals,
i will carry your pollinated life along with me,
until i can spread it throughout my own.

making memories of us

father.
[fah-th-er]

a male parent.
a father-in-law, stepfather, or adoptive father.
any male ancestor.
paternal protector or provider.

father.
[daddy, papa, dad]

roasted bell peppers,
saving me the last bit of mozzarella,
laughing at each others' jokes,
chocolate chips in all brownies,
singing in the dark on those late night car rides,
watching the sunrise on the beach,
cherry danishes,
sunday papers,
teaching my how to get through everything,
because you have.

father.
[fah-th-er]

a lifetime of memories scrapbooked into one incredible man,
mine.

extra love on this father's day <3

beautiful oblivion

i spent my life expected,

learning the answers to questions i didn't want to be asked

always able to see what would happen next.

i wanted adventure,

wanted to experience a life unknown,

a life sidestepping the path that'd been mapped out for me.

i craved to set new footprints in a smooth plain of sand,

add a galaxy of stars to my own walk of fame,

stop reading the script that was already printed.

so i stopped waiting.

i stopped walking in the back of the pack, 

stopped following whoever led me.

i broke free.

not knowing where i was or where i was going or what i was doing was beautiful.

the love of being blind to the future swept me up in a swirl of improvisation.

rising with the tides,

falling with the stars,

climbing each step as it came.

not knowing was all the knowledge i needed to find a

beautiful oblivion.

life's chorus

the last bit of what makes up me.

music tells a story.

not the pen-and-ink,

web-of-words story,

but a beat-and-melody,

crescendo-and-chord story.

each song is a prayer set to a tempo,

a kaleidoscope of emotion,

an unforgotten memory.

what can’t be spoken is sung

a conversation between those who understand and those who wish they could.

the lyrics weave a net

catching those who fall

criss-crossing and knotting away

at the fears lying beneath the listener’s ears.

a three minute verse can hold a life untold

scream what can’t be heard.

only those who listen will respect the shatter

understand the serenade.

music tells the truth,

puts aside the lies

replaces them with an honest voice.

those who sing carry a message,

try to tell the right story to the right people.

really, it’s about your own story

how it fits itself into someone else’s

like a maze

eternally interlocking with another path.

really, it’s about my story

how it coincides with everyone i’ve ever known

everything i’ve ever touched.

we are all writers,

narrating our own lives,

stringing them together through words of wisdom.

i tie my own knots with my own handwriting

a unique tumble of letters, my own.

only some of us will have the courage to sing out

to reveal

that we are not alone

trapped in solitude.

i chose to listen in,

watch as my story branches into another one’s music.

rather,

we all have wings to soar along the lines of the lives we’ve written in verse

beat out on guitar

whistled through a flute

tapped at on a tabletop.

we just need a wind strong enough to lift us up

and join the flock.

crooked

another piece of me.

i always knew i was sick.

even before the doctors found the scoliosis i could feel myself slipping

feel my bones folding into themselves.

the disease wrapped itself not only around my spine

but around my family too.

our lives as a whole shifted

just like my spine

contorted around having every test done

paying for every appointment insurance didn’t cover

skipping and sidestepping normality

for me.

i was bombarded with medicine and treatments and gifts

trying to supply me of what we all knew I would never have;

normality.

i shut myself in.

stopped complaining about how much it hurt

pushed away the constant fear that this day was my last

prayed not to be noticed.

sometimes, i couldn’t even tell i was sick.

the curves grew and grew

spiraling through my nervous system

twisting and twirling around my organs

crooked.

as my days ticked by,

i wondered,

was it worse never being able to say goodbye

or never knowing when to?

after all the x-rays,

MRIs,

blood tests,

breathing checks,

medications,

braces,

the only solution left was a knife.

with a slice of a scalpel

metal ran through me

tinted my blood with titanium.

i was stripped of the crippled normality i’d come to know.

learning to walk,

talk,

bend,

breathe,

smile,

again

each step,

each breath,

each movement was a milestone

a little victory i’d previously taken for granted.

you don’t realize just how much you can do until you can’t.

those hazy hospital days,

as i laid there unable to move,

i let my thoughts run wild.

i thought about the places i’d go,

the people i’d see,

the things i’d write about if

when

i got out of here.

i created stories of lives i’d love to live

and vowed to

soon.

healing from the surgery was hard.

knowing i really was okay was harder.

i am a patchwork now,

healed and rehealed by life and love

sewn by reassurance and courage.

scoliosis tore me at the seams

but my stitches are tighter now.

horizon line

this is a piece of my life.

i remember it from the

beginning.

bigger than anything i’d ever seen,

louder than anything i’d ever heard

afraid  of its beauty.

afraid i would let go

of my father’s hand

let the sea take me.

afraid i would be blinded by  its sun-on-water glow

afraid i would fall apart in the pulsing blue-black silence.

yet still i wanted to be a part of it

wanted to feel the roll of the ocean rock me to sleep.

since those early days when only the symphony of seasalt was heard by my ears

my legs have grown longer, my mind has grown sharper.

now the sound of the sea is muffled by life,

nearly silenced by sound piling on top of it.

sometimes i wish to return to my undersea paradise,

to give myself into the fear of being lost

to let go of my father’s hand.

but if i were to give up my rushing life

for the gentle coastal swells

would I forget all i’ve come to know?

how could i let the current rip me away from everything?

my baby sister, who’s taught me my life isn’t the only one worth living for

my father, who taught me to swim

held my hand as my life bloomed into his.

my father, who knew i was sick

and that he was too

and that despite all he’s taught me

was still learning a few things himself.

as a child, i thought my life was about reaching the horizon.

as a soul, i know it is the journey of ups and downs

waves and sand bars

that is the horizon.