Babushka

This is for you, Babushka.
Eight letters that mean more than "grandmother"
they are the moment I first learned that word.
As a little girl whose clothes never matched
knew that unicorns existed but were just good at hiding
only knew pain as skinned knees
and joy as an extra bedtime story.

I was seven years young, with wide blue eyes
that lit up when i found out
there was name for my favorite grandmother
spoken in Russian, your native language
So i knew that the next time I saw you
I could tell you that I understood your heritage
with those eight little letters
My sister wasn't lucky enough to know the word I held close
like one of my favorite stuffed animals
So it would be our secret.
Whispered during the goodbyes of family gatherings
Goodbye grandpa, Goodbye grandma- bye babushka
so with tiny hands, a big imagination, and no creative talent
I drew you a picture of us.
marker scribbles of blue grass, an orange sun
and two smiling stick figures
with arrows and labels to make sure you knew
that it was my babushka- and me.

Back when I was still small enough to fit in your arms
like we were part of the same nesting doll set
When I was sit in your lap and put your glasses on my face
becuase I liked your outlook on the world better than my own
When your voice played out a light melody
tinkling and trilling like piano keys
When you laugh would surround me and kiss my ears like hummingbird wings
and all I could say is "I love you."

Now, there isn't enough kindness in the world without you here
because when you were around, I always had a reason to smile.
I'm finding more unlit roads without your radiant smile to light the way
and I quickly get lost on the paths I find
without your gentle hands to guide me.

I wish I had taken the chance to ask
grandmother, how do you dance?
How do you carry yourself with such grace across the stage of life?
How do you shine so brightly that you don't need a spotlight?
How to you cast your worries aside and float with dainty feet?

How did you stand tall against the voices that told you your worth was related to your gender
with a straight strong spine, you spoke for yourself.
Grandmother, how did you become strong?
What sort of weights did your heart have to lift before it was able to support so many?

If I look in the mirror in 60 years
and see a reflection of who you are- who you were
I will know I lived well and be proud of my identity
I hope that I stay connected to you
So now, I dance for more than myself..
I dance for two.
Each motion brings you closer to my heart and yet reminds me that you're so far away
When I move, my chest thumps with the rhythm of my own drum that now tells me secrets
lets me know I don't move alone
that as long as my toes skim across the floor
and there is still music in my bones
Even if you're not here
you're still
My babushka.

Starlight darkness

That night,
the clouds were so thick in the sky
they refused to let the stars shine
didn't allow a glimmer of hope to sparkle in my eyes
gave me nothing else to wish on.

The lunar tears were obscured from view
and instead reflected in my eyes
so that when I looked at the heavens
they seemed to shimmer.

The moon herself was hidden
wrapped in a blanket of gray precipitation
that hung in the sky like my anticipation
for the day that was to come

because I knew
that in the morning
I would be in mourning.

Preparation for loss
doesn't make the loss easier.
Just as you can build walls and retreat inland
in face of an oncoming wave
but that doesn't mean the tsunami won't hit

I guess it's fitting that the moon hid herself from me
after all, she controls the tides.
So she gives me one night of rest
of relief
of moments too precious to lose
before I had to lose you.

She knew that high tide would come all too soon
and that I'm not very good at keeping my head above water.

So the clouds will move on
and rain down on the mountains of my cheekbones
cutting out river pathways in my skin
streaking towards the ground
the final resting place
of all my memories.

I could say that I love you
but that's not enough.
So all I can do is look in your sweet brown eyes
that only ever trusted me
and tell you that it's okay.
That the warmth you feel is my heartbeat
keeping pace with yours

and when yours stops
mine will have enough strength to persist
for both of us.
So I'll wrap you up in the cocoon of my arms
and keep you safe
as you travel to somewhere
that I have yet to know

Try to be patient
wait for me
I'll be there.
eventually.

Short Attention Span

I listen to their words
the way they become one with the stage
the microphone as an extension of the vibrations of their vocal cords

and I wish my thoughts could fall onto the page
and arrange themselves accordingly
but I succumb to writing A.D.D.
and I write five different things at once
and combine them on the same piece of paper

and maybe why I call it a piece of writing
is that it is not whole. it is not finished.
it is part of something bigger
and it brings me peace.

It soothes the crashing waves in my mind
ideas that pull at the sandy shores of my subconscious
for me, it's always high tide.
and there's new jagged rocks of thoughts to smooth over with repetition.

Calms the voice in my head like usually only music can.
In case you haven't noticed,
I use my middle finger to push my headphones in
so fuck what you say.
I wasn't really listening anyway
and I'm pretty sure I prefer Jack Johnson's philosophy
to yours.

So you can tell me that i'm influenced
by having my thoughts be separate entities
that affect my reality.
No, they define my reality.
How I perceive it, not how it really is.

But I could only look at the world unbiased if I was blind.
Now use your fluffy letters to describe to me how a sunset looks.
How it feels to see a baby smile.
what it's like to watch a flower unfold

But I can still feel the petals
velvet soft in my palm
and maybe if I can't see that roses are red
it won't look like the bushes are bleeding.

Like I said,
writing A.D.D.
So I'll keep moving my fingers as fast as I can
trying to keep up with the rhythm of my mind
and hoping that one day
you, too will feel the beat.

Acceptance.

You can't control the uncontrollable
but that doesn't stop me from trying
or my heart from clenching
or my eyes from crying.

Yet I can't shed the tears
that are stuck in my throat
verbal drops of rain
come out in lines I wrote

on another day
about another time
about the victim's family
of a murderless crime

because death doesn't always stem from murder
although I'm pretty sure part of me just died.
or at least that's how I interpret
these feelings that just won't subside
I wish to be rid of them;
believe me, I've tried
because whoever said it's better to have loved and lost
well, they lied.

Losing who you love
is a pain that is beyond words.
beyond measure
beyond impulses in your nerves

reflexes that tell you to pull your hand away
from something that burns
simply can't respond
to life's emotional turns

So instead we take the lemons of lessons we're given
to make lemonade- and we learn.

But you can't learn how to ease the clenched fist grip
on your vital organs
your heart
your stomach
your lungs
you want to speak out
but only taste numbness on your tongue

it's nearly impossible to function
until you remember to breathe
sobbing, heaving, hysterical gasps
when you're reminded
that this life
never lasts.

It's the loss of potential
the weight of things unsaid
that make me crazy
being locked up in my head.

things you'll never hear again
like "I love you"
because there's nothing else to say
that would ring so true.

But I feel like i'm going mad
because I can't remember
the last time I hugged you
possibly june, and now it's december?

So while you can't hear my voice
I hope that you know
I'm so happy I had you there
to support me and watch me grow
and I send my love with you
wherever you may go.

Missing you.

I'm always missing someone.
Just when I've got it all figured out
there's a person I've left behind.

Not by choice.
Not willingly.
but it just... happened.

Like so many other things in this life that just.... happen.
And so many others that just don't.

But i'm tired of leaving people behind.
Friends and family.
sisters, related and discovered.

Maybe humans are destined to be lonely
loved and comforted
but alone.

save for those lucky moments when we're surrounded
by those who really care about us.

but someone will always be left out.
be left behind.
so I guess we just have to pick up the rest of the pieces
and let the rest of life
just.... happen.