I wrote a poem. I’ll just put this here for now.
What if all the rules we’ve written were wrong
Because they are
While not wholly inaccurate, every statement of how this all should work just isn’t quite right
The lines we draw are ephemeral, even when black and clear and sharp
She reached through and spoke to me
She is speaking to me now
As I lay in the bath scrolling her memory on my phone
The patter of the rain, increasing, and my literal mind wills her away
She killed herself? Or did she?
Is this why no one mentions cancer, or any other reason that her life may have ended by the drive of something else
She was a force of nature, and now, surely, she is nature, as the rain turns to thunder on December 26th.
In the short times we’ve shared space, there was a knowing, which you could explain away by saying we loved the same man…at different times….but there is something else that I knew, that she knew, too.
The veil between this and that is more permeable than any of us on this side are willing to admit.
I don’t blame her.
I can see it.
Is it possible that she saw it, too?
And bravely crossed the line into space where we will out spread out eventually and make less sense and adhere to less meaning and unravel into many pieces, our elements dividing and colliding and melting into their source, did she choose to become….everything?
And is she now, from somewhere we will never understand from this spot, leaning into me, and helping me know?
Because I think I know.
I stop and listen for her pieces to tell me the invisible, elusive, ethereal truth.
And I stay here. Tethered to now. With this one and the other, attached to me, and I attached to them.
Life.
On this side.
Lisa Moves 