one year

it’s been a year

one year today

a year of commemorating events

so many firsts without you

holidays, anniversaries, birthdays,

both mine and yours

it’s been a year of longing

a year of grieving

a year of confusion

a year lonelier than I have ever been

it began with her passing,

her, who I never knew

from all of your stories

I felt as if I did,

as if we had been connected in some way

you sent me word of her

and I was overwhelmed

simply knowing what that loss

would have meant to you

I grieved for you

knowing how you would grieve for her

time passed slowly

as days became weeks

and then months

after she died

I never heard from you again

I don’t know what happened to you

where you went

and as many shades of grey

have become black and white

even who you were

real or not

you were real to me

you loved me and taught me

you brought to life parts of me

that I may otherwise

would never have known

most of all

I loved you

I loved you completely

and with total abandon

I held nothing back

and in the context of what we shared

that was quite a feat

I don’t know how to mourn you now

how to mourn my broken heart

how to grieve something so intangible

I don’t know how to grieve us

so I will grieve her today

and remember her as you painted her

to me

Silence

there is something so simple

in the silence

something as soothing

as a warm breeze

something as easy

as breathing

there is something

about the stillness

something that lulls

calming the senses

somewhere in that quiet

there are doors

windows that let in light

peace can be found

in moments like this

understanding can be sifted

until the valuable pieces

are shaken loose

wind rustles the trees

and leaves float

through the air

their simple path

leading them

until they gently come to rest

this is a place for thought

a place for healing

a place of reprieve

truly, it is a day

just like any other

but to pause

to sit within the silence

letting nothing

fill the empty spaces

that is the difference

for today

Trobairitz

and with what felt like breath

for the first time entering my lungs

I opened my mouth

and song came from me

I let the breath escape

from places hidden deep

and let the words come forth

as never heard before

I am alive and kicking

a pulse is driving me

a heartbeat accompanying

the introductory lines

this is quick becoming a symphony

from a simply strummed chord

she, the muse, conducting me

calling me to sing

my lungs are like a bullhorn

bursting out in blasts

voice taking on a power

that I may never have conveyed

my throat is filled with honey

and sandpaper’s scratchy edge

just enough to reach

the hair on the back of your neck

my words are like gemstones

that have been locked away inside

and she holds the key

and wants to see the shine

she polishes the surface

in simple graceful strokes

then holds them to the light

and lets them shine on their own

I can’t contain this passion

this need, this aching want

and my wailing song is heard

through walls of solid stone

she said, ‘I have a Troubadour’

to this I simply smile

and strum the chords of her

my harmony she sings

my offering, my heart and soul

courting you as such

your Trobairitz, I come to you

and offer you myself

*written in 2014 but for some odd reason I never posted this piece*


*The trobairitz (Occitan pronunciation: [tɾuβajˈɾits]) were Occitan female troubadours of the 12th and 13th centuries, active from around 1170 to approximately 1260. Trobairitz is both singular and plural.*