Packets of Time: Particle Theory of Love

I am waiting for enough moments
to pass until
I am no longer fighting urges
to call him.

I go through the motions of my day,
slowly unfreezing,
hurriedly wondering,
at what point is it acceptable for me
to be light again?

Some days have lighter moments
which cloud over with guilt:
How dare I be okay?
What about him?
Is he okay?

I am waiting for enough moments
to combine until
I start stitching myself back up,
through packets of time.

/michal

Part 3 of 3: Learning to Heal

Of course I am spinning around
still
in my own little circle, but why
can’t I stop?

I can’t see
the world around me.
It does not keep up with my speed
Like my hands
Which I see clearly (spinning with me).
But the world, a blur.

Let me slow down
And see my reflection
And breathe in sync with her lungs.

I had a small doll once
(With silvery blue hair)
And her hands were sewn together
To make a loop for her knees
To tuck into.
She would sit there and hug herself
And that is all she did.

/michal

Singing in the Bomb Shelter

Music class was held in the bomb shelter down the hall from my senior kindergarten homeroom. The shelter was plain with thick walls, so inside the acoustics were good. We inhabited a musical safe zone where we could play anything and not get hurt. My music teacher had a Russian accent that made her words taste funny in my ears. She sat on the floor between our tapping feet and sang as we tightly held the mallets with our childish hands. I focused on the rubber ball on the other end of my mallet, hitting and bouncing off the metal slate of the xylophone. The room was long, narrow, and cold like the xylophone slate. There was no space to sit in a circle, so we sat on the bench beside each other and faced the bricks in front of us. Hidden and safe.

/michal

Numb but Unafraid

I have a story
to tell but no urgency
propels me
towards its completion

and so it will remain
half-whispered, half-exclaimed
flowing yet contained

a dynamic equilibrium
changing all the same.

It does not matter
in a world bursting
at the seams with the imminent
the breaking

do not have time
do not have ears
but the broken

have no fears, they are not
even afraid of waiting,

not anymore.

/cristina