sunlitspeaks

[sunlitspeaks]

we're on vacation, sitting in a living room and watching movies that remind us of our childhoods. the door of the screened in porch is open. golden light of early evening shimmers over the lake, the color of which melds into the sky at the horizon. sunset is coming, but its a few hours off yet- such is the magic of midsummer, all green and blue and gold.

it's been a long year. i took three weeks off work and spent three days of that in the hospital back in march, barely able to walk for the pain and swelling in my foot. i'd heard that mrsa was difficult to heal from, but experiencing it was something else entirely, and i was totally unprepared. it's weird to think about how easily you can become disabled, after all. waiting a few days to go to the emergency room very well could've killed me.

but now it's july. i've been waking up to catch the sunrise every morning this week and my husband looks at me and smiles as we sit here watching gene wilder playing mr wonka himself. tomorrow i'll make us pancakes with bacon and we'll go to a waterfall and i'll feel a little more alive.

[sunlitspeaks]

fields left to fallow

in golden crowns woven of grass

slip beneath soft earth before the freeze

burrow deep to where the warmth hides

and let your secrets lie where they will

feathers drift down from the sky

wings of wax melting somewhere above

wonder how he felt as he fell

did he curse the sun

when the heat touched his face

or did he praise the heavens

for a heartbeat of freedom

to taste the wild blue

build the impossible

chase dreams even as they burned

upon his shoulders

oh icarus, was it worth it?

[sunlitspeaks]

new growth

[sunlitspeaks]

addict

[sunlitspeaks]

[sunlitspeaks]

[sunlitspeaks]

[sunlitspeaks]

i. you learn how to disappear into the woodwork at 16. how to slip through life unnoticed, but not unbothered. how to mind your p’s and q’s, write in a journal instead of with crimson and silver against pale skin.

ii. you learn how to dance on bars at 19. wild and reckless and off on your own. vision blurring, thin white lines in a bathroom stall. the streetlight casting a glow across his face when he slapped yours and you begged him to do it again.

iii. you learn to hold your own hair back at 22. when the world is spinning and it’s all you can do to hold tight to that porcelain. when it’s long past midnight and you just don’t know how to face the morning.

iv. but morning comes whether or not you’re prepared for it. so go to sleep. things look different in the daylight.

[sunlitspeaks]

[sunlitspeaks]