Half full

We have a choice in each sticky moment, 

to hold or release, to cling to or forgive. 

We have just two words that will suffice: 

yes and no.  It is simple. 

It has been six months, and today

I am thinking of the things I have gained since she left. 

Fear does not rule my life, 

I have taken chances, art classes, writing classes, 

new bold colors on walls that no longer drip with regret. 

My new jeans fit perfectly, my new short haircut shines,  

and several people have told me my butt is cute.

I have been to Williamsburg, I have been to Austin, 

I have eaten migas in the Magnolia Cafe. 

I have drawn madalas, I have sungs with women, 

harmonies and rounds, an octave of music, 

both high and light and low and bowing, 

still and hanging in a sacred space. 

I have laid on the floor and slept. 

I have wept and wept, tears no longer need coaxing, 

thay are as natural as breathing or sleep.

My heart is round -- not lopsided, 

I know grief and love and the growth that seeds in both.

I have prayed in circles of people,  

holding hands with men and women who cradle me. 

A baby shivers with joy when she sees me, 

my neighbors feed me.  Conversations over coffee.  

Chai latte sipped in Lousville. 

New skin, soft under my finger tips, 

new hands upon my face.  

I have seen fireworks, clapped along to gospel music, 

spoken my truth from a pulpit to a leaning congregation, 

I have called strikes from the best seat in the stadium. 

I have buried two friends, retired two more,

I have leaned on the light of new sisters and brothers, 

and thrown rocks skittering across the Chagrin River. 

Bread has been broken and passed, 

beers clinked on the front porch. 

Ice cream has been drizzled with chocolate sauce. 

White light has doused me, 

my spirit has founds its wide tide.

Fifty seven new songs are on my iPod, 

forty-eight new colored pencils are at my drawing station. 

My heartrate is slower,  my nails are longer, 

I smell of grapefruit and rosemary mint.  

There are no more boxes in my life, 

only circles, widening and strengthening circles. 

Just one small puddle remains. 

And, even now, the sun is out and drying it. 

Is there light in the darkness?  

How do we lean into the light of a tarry night? 

We have a choice in each sticky moment. 

To hold or release, to ask for help or to suffer. 

We have just two words that suffice: full and empty. 

Look at my hands now, and what I can hold.