He Calls Love

December 9, 2011

in Confessions

For a first step out from the broken world, bandaged with sterile walls, healed from death. A solitary decision. Placed my hands, hesitant, one on his back and one on his chest.

Bracing him. Bracing
me. Walk him step by step in
shoes without laces

Favorite comfort short now name tagged into the chill of November. Take these steps toward home.

You still have a choice.
We can’t go back to the empty.
We still can have time.

Our life painted black. Choose to paint is blue golden white. Smash the dishes. Bang down the pots. Topple the sofa. Eyes in slits seeing only the today and the next today. Come back. Place one hand on your chest and one on your back. Reign in the pain – the loss of yesterday – the loss of last week – the loss of seventeen – the loss of thirteen – the loss of six. Let me hold you as you fall and grieve. As you eyes widen to tomorrow. Breathe out in tears the loss of tomorrow.

In the depth, I will
remain nearby as you mourn
decide to call love

Love. Love. Love. Removes my hand from his chest and the wound drips. Catches in his throat. He calls love. It is time to come home. Paint healing on the skin of our arms.

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Lindsey Renuard is a blogger, YouTube beauty expert, and the Managing Editor of the Skiatook Journal.

{ 1 comment }

a Book for My Daughter December 12, 2011 at 6:08 pm

Your poem gave me chills. I have read it more than once, trying to see beyond the surface of the words, to truly understand what you are saying. It is powerful and eloquent. 

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