brews and dancing and death comes knocking…

by shadymama

oh my.  it has been a gnarly.broken.drunken.antithesis-of-structure coupla weeks and i am

still reeling

from all all all of it, and this head of mine – fragmented at best, completely shattered at worst – is pounding.pulsing.thudding with the real realness of it all.  soul-stomping bluegrass, dizzy drunken dancing, a wrecked house, patching up a an unwanted yet inevitable relationship, awkwardly marching through a ten year reunion and death (yes, death – complete with all of its family dynamics, its tricky undertones of history, its tug.tap.tickle of faith, its undeniable/unwelcome complexities)…i am

still reeling.

but, oh – have i missed this space, this little corner of cyberness* in which i have the safety and stretch to discover the truth that lies, unturned, in my own heart.  during this (too long) hiatus, i’ve been writing posts in my head and in my journal and on scrap paper; i have curled worlds of words under my breath, tucked into the space between tongue.and.cheek, have wondered what i would write when i could.

turns out it’s this.

a lot of nothing, to let you know i’m still here.

to let me know i’m still here.

here’s two highlights.  and i would ask you to forgive me the shambles.rambles this corner just fell into, but – it’s my corner.  so all i’m gonna do is look in the mirror, all gentle like, and smile.

portrait of gentle

*corner of the internets = my euphemism fer the dreaded four letter b word. 











we’re both temporarily here, but only because we can’t manage to escape ourselves, even when left to our own spinning.dodging.dancing de


and, before,

many many moons before,

i have sat still in this spot and written wide wide words of sorrow spanning eras of self-loathing and self-discovery, alike.  i have

picked up

the broken pieces of my spine.shattered.limbs.cracked open and reglued them with wet ink {black}, and dry paper, {white}, lived to stand

crooked with contrast

another day, and.  i know my mind is lost, crying out fer home, somewhere inside this headache, and.  i know my soul is whole, crying out fer peace, somewhere inside these puzzle pieces of a life

frustratingly unfit 

most of the time, and.  i am s  l  o  w  l  y learning that you can go back, return to that place.that space.that time you once knew and still crave like it is a part of you missing, that you can go back

.you can.

but that you won’t want to.  and this is what scares you most of all.



breaking sky

i am sitting here/having future conversations/with/my/son,/as the clouds/deshade/the moon/from white sphere/to/grades/of grey and even/darker/grey/than that./and there is a blue/in between/so dark it is almost/black-/there are mad shapes/in the sky and./i wonder why/what is only bent/has seemed/broken/for so long-/why it took/this wide stretch/of life to realize/imperfections/don’t exist/because/perfection/doesn’t exist,/that what is so hard/is hardly ever wrong./yes./the growth is in the struggle,/the cracking/of yer own/carefully constructed cocoon,/the pain lies in the grey/the cracking of the darkness/with the light/of a bright/white/moon.