Learning Curve (I Got Lost)

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“Queen” by Melissa Nucera (ThisYearsGirl)

I got lost
and it seemed
I was trying to get away.

I got lost
and couldn’t name my way
back or say where I’d gone.

I got lost,
went to work
and did errands
and immersed myself
in motherhood
and the keeping up
and the overload
that made me forget
to make eye contact.

I got lost and I fell
asleep and I forgot
the point
of doing any of these things.

Until you asked.
And at first, I didn’t know
how to respond.
I still wasn’t here,
and my heart had not yet
fluttered back to life.

But we talked
and as we kept talking,
side-lying
like the animals we are
whose thoughts interfere
with joy sometimes,
with this thing
called “showing up”
and this thing called
“connecting”
(I really like the sounds
of these things,
and they have hearts, too,
that need tending),
eventually the tears came
and made me remember
what it feels like
to be found,
the relief
of being here again.

It’s not a process
I claim to understand.

This morning, after sleeping,
after you woke with a wicked cold
and I woke
with the usual dream remnants,
I saw more
and understood.

It’s a sure sign
when I start talking
about getting out
into the woods
that the woods are calling
and solitude is something
to make space for,
not a distress signal
but a compass,
an ineffable disappearance
reminding me
that being alone
does not have to mean
being lost to myself
or to you.

This is all
a long, vertical way
of saying
sometimes the station
is all static,
and sometimes I don’t know
how to come back
from the leaving
that was for so long
The Way.

I am learning.
They call it a curve.

And indeed it bends,
away sometimes,
and then always,
(when I’m listening,
and you’re listening)
back around,
and home
to this,
to us.

Image: “Queen” by Melissa Nucera
ThisYearsGirl on Etsy

10 thoughts on “Learning Curve (I Got Lost)

  1. Dana says:

    “….reminding me that being alone does not have to mean being lost to myself or to you.” Yes. I feel that way often, but your words tell it beautifully.

    Like

  2. Katrina Kenison says:

    Two solitudes standing side by side, gazing in the same direction. As long as the curve bends back, always, toward love, all is well.

    Like

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