wishbone_heartIt’s beautiful outside, and you want. You need.

To walk and walk away, follow a side trail overgrown by roots and branches deep into the woods, or to catch a train to the city to walk there, too, in a different flavor of solitude. To lie down on your back on a sun-drenched wood floor wearing yoga pants and a loose tank top, for a loving someone to see you, tell you to breathe in and out, coax the constriction out into the open.

Want, need, want, need.

These are the syllables of your restless suffering, an affliction common as breathing and curable by the same.

Today the dark purple lilacs are in bloom. Your children want and want and need and you want it to be enough that you love them but you snap instead, something brittle inside of you cracking at the tender wishbone as you tell them you don’t appreciate being yelled at, don’t appreciate being a target for their moods, don’t appreciate being a target for your own screaming thoughts that won’t break the surface.

This too shall pass. It always does.

The beautiful day will break into storm and this storm will break back into beauty, and in the meantime all you can do is mean it, time it by the beats of your living heart and the pulses of your wanton wanting things to be different, right now, this instant, rush rush out the door, here’s your lunch and I love you. Blow a kiss through the half-window and go to work, go toward the sky, go toward the ground.

Take the bare bones and worn wishes this moment offers, asking only for your presence in return.

3 thoughts on “Wishbone

  1. Chris says:

    Thanks for sharing. Your words and work are always a reminder of our shared struggle to be our truly human selves. You make it less lonely.



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