During the Month it Took You to Leave Me

I filled my gas tank to 33 dollars and 33 cents
and told you it was for you
because it was your favorite number.

I organized our belongings
(white t-shirts—books—toothbrushes—
baby, this is where we keep our sweaters)
as if using the word “our” would embed myself
into what you call home.

I bought flowers from a homeless man
because you are a botany major.
I wanted to bring them to you,
wilting and loveless, and show you how
I can nurture something worth saving.

There is a five-finger scar above my breast.
There is an orchestra on my neck shaped like your pulse
from all the nights you held me the way
you only hold something slipping.

There are 6 states
pressed like stubborn flowers
between the last time I kissed you and today,
but you still feel like a sound caught in my throat.

- Sierra DeMulder

Protected: Why I Hold On

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Protected: lessons on things with the same name

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my letter to you, today

Darlings, I have so much to say and think of you, in your whole unfinished evolution, with eagerness that makes me nervous and overjoyed. What an incredible, collective life we have, don’t you see? What a thrilling time to be a part of this, our shared story! We are all within reach; no one is more than a call, a trip, or a note away. Make the world smaller. Find the ones you want and pull them in. See the grit not as dirt to be avoided to keep yourself clean, but as the hard and necessary people and trials that give you courage and make your pearl shine. This is your oyster, sweetheart. This will be your great impact in a soft combustion of sound from a heart stronger than you can ever imagine. Listen. {lub dup… lub dup… lub dup…} Test that heart. Never be reluctant with any muscle. Use it and it will burn inside you day and night, making love while you sleep and bringing more in each day. Such a small thing with so much work to do, indeed the only work to be done, that will make your mark in this history. Let me be your witness and you be mine. Don’t let anyone get away with a stingy heart with you. Ask for their love and you will both be better for the question, regardless of how close you hold each other after. You are the rarest bud, more beautiful the more you grow. You are precious beyond expression. Your ache and desire make this world what it is and if you ever doubt your part in it, bring it closer. Pick up the phone, take a trip, write a note. Be seen and heard, but more importantly, look very carefully and listen with unconditional strength. Don’t be a skinny fat heart. Pull in the grit with the water of life and make pearls only to give them away and make more. Over and over, stretch your world and make it smaller. Love like you deserve it. Love the way someone is going to love you back. Lub dup… lub dup… lub dup.

Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell

leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses,
you make him call before
he visits, you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.

- Marty McConnell

 

we haven’t talked in a few weeks, but it’s been over for months. he won’t be the next to call and it seems i won’t/can’t call now either. there’s nothing new to say. it’s undoubtedly over and yet…

i keep rereading the love letters, chats, emails – 880 in one year, looking for the lessons to be learned. instead, it just makes me fall back in love with him. then i go to sleep alone, blurry eyed, lungs tight, and have to break myself from him all over again overnight.

what have i failed to learn from this year? how did we allow our attachment to stitch our two selves together over so much when he wasn’t going to be there? he says he never stopped loving me and it appears i love him still. in truth, i still love anyone i’ve ever really loved. but, christ, this one hurt extraordinarily. this has been a wrenching year and the times i was devastated by this cruel, perfect man outnumbered the pleasures. what drives me mad still is how little sense it makes. how did we manage to get so entwined if we wanted such different things? how did it all fall apart if we had all these passions still strong? how am i here on this other side feeling whip-lashed by his love and indifference, unable to see how far back i turned the wrong way? how does a person love without wanting? risk without trusting? 

of course the reason that i won’t call is because there’s someone else. or three. i’ve given the dating sites three busy months. it’s diverting, sure, but it’s honest. this is what we do. we pack up our hearts, stand up straight, and attempt some grace as we give it another go. i am amazed at the honesty, charm, and effort i’ve found in particular dates. it’s a sweet salve and while dating is itself a precarious task, it serves many desires and demands the audacity we broken hearts need to find to wake up again tomorrow. i’ve been overwhelmed and swept up in the delight of others who seem to want my time and attention and appreciate whatever it is that makes me ME.

this grief is so tricky. he didn’t die. he didn’t leave again as far as i know. he’s there. so close and alive and living his life exactly as before, just with a me-sized hole. there aren’t condolences. i don’t feel allowed to just be sad. it’s an expectation that i find revenge, that i account his wrongs, that i regret. i can’t do any of those things. i just … won’t. so i’m looking for the growth, the point, the mercy. trying to be wiser, stronger, and braver than before. because i need to forgive him and he needs to forgive me. otherwise, we don’t go on. we don’t “get over it” – no one does. we just muck our way through, breaking bridges between houses and long gone promises to save our hope for another. what is heartbreak if it doesn’t build a newer, better heart? 

a man in the line of the hurricane is pulling on my heart and i’m trying very hard to let go and enjoy how incredible it feels to want someone so unbelievably  wonderful. instead, i press my breast and think, “god, this is going to hurt.”

we can never really know who to trust, but it’s never wrong to believe in somebody you love. here’s to another go in one direction and staying gone in the other.

 

see? don’t ever think this isn’t a personal blog. in the lines of the poems are the lessons i need. thank you, mcconnell. this one hit. 

Thirty

Happy Birthday, Me. It’s going to be a great year and an astounding decade.

family introductions

Redamancy Lit, meet Good Life Farm.

Good Life Farm, meet Redamancy Lit.

 

and now i have two blogs. two unique children. each with it’s place in the world, which is big enough for all of us.

now that the awkward introductions are done, the introvert can meet the extrovert, the soul can see the plan, and i hope you’ll follow both.

advice

The only thing you are responsible for is you.

You won’t find what you want until you stop accepting what you don’t want.

Be grateful for honesty. Be humble when you feel defensive. Be kind always. Be brave enough to break your own heart. Be open to it all, to the risk of being gutted, and go on when someone gives up on you.

St. Tropez Salad

I make different versions of this salad often because it’s outrageously delicious. Also, it’s an easy meal on it’s own … filling, but clean and light.

Using the raw goat cheese is my favorite, but if I don’t have it, avocado or rich olive oil is a wonderful substitute for the fat element needed. Sometimes I add green onions, carrots, or marinated olives. Play around with the recipe, too. It’s a salad, not a souffle.

This makes a lot, but it’s good to make yourself eat good greens, don’t you think? I often eat two bowls for dinner or have a big bowl and a piece of fish for a rounder, lovely meal. It will keep through the next day, so eat your leftovers for lunch.

St. Tropez Salad
adapted from the memory of a similar recipe in The Raw Food Detox Diet

Ingredients:
1 head lettuce
1 small bunch spinach
1 bunch basil
1/2 cup diced sweet onion
2 cups cherry tomatoes, halved
2 cups raw goat cheddar, shredded
1 medium sized beet, peeled and shredded

Dressing ingredients:
4 cloves garlic
4 packets stevia (or 4 tsp sugar)
6 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon dijon
1/2 tablespoon dried oregano
salt and pepper to taste

Instructions:
Wash and dry the lettuce, spinach, and basil. I don’t know what I’d do without my salad spinner. It makes quick work of the often tedious process of washing and drying greens. Tear the leaves into bite sized pieces and put in a really big serving bowl. Add the onion, tomato, cheddar, and beet.

In a blender, add all the dressing ingredients and blend until completely smooth. Pour on top of the salad and toss until well dispersed. Serve and eat with gusto.

mouse & jar