Write Me Up

Official writing with some random thoughts

A poem to read and share May 5, 2014

Filed under: General Blog-tastic Writings,Wednesday is for poets — Dorothy Lynn @ 3:43 pm
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Sometimes I have moments that just hit me with how beautiful and powerful they are, so I memorize them and save them later to write about. I had one of those moments a few weeks ago, and this is the poem that came out of it.

Sassy’s Question

Just a little over a week after your mama died,
and here I am, three thousand miles from where
I stood a week ago, water dripping from my hair
as I stepped out of the bathtub and knew the worst
had happened, knew from the terse tone of the letters,
knew from that tug in my belly that always tells
me when you are hurting, knew that life would never be
the same and that I had to be here with you
a week later, standing on the deck of a boat, water
dripping from my hair with wind whipping around us,
your arms around me, steadying me, blocking
some of the drops rushing around us, the boat motor
roaring, the roses in my cold hands, drenched
in tiny diamond droplets that are so calm, so delicate,
so contrasting this moment that is loud and quiet,
funny and sad, adventurous and commonplace, standing
together with the ones we love when the little
one asks if we are taking a boat ride to heaven.

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Part Three May 17, 2013

Filed under: General Blog-tastic Writings — Dorothy Lynn @ 10:41 pm
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“You know when you see something so beautiful that you can’t breathe? It’s like an asthma attack, but not in your lungs. Deeper than that.”

“Of course. Like when you cry because you are happy.”

“No, more than that. It’s when you want to cry, but you can’t because it is too lovely. It means too much. And it’s not happy at all. Beauty doesn’t mean happy. It just–it pricks something else inside of you. Not inside, exactly, because it is all around too. That’s why it is hard to breathe when it happens, because it presses from the inside and the outside, at the same time, but just for a moment.”

“I’m not sure. That kind of sounds like emotions to me.”

“Well…yes. And no.”

‘So, do you mean like when you see a gorgeous sunset or listen to a good song?”

“No. Those are beautiful, but too tangible. This only happens with complicated, tangled-up beauty. Like when you read the old stories where someone dies and you are sad, but they had a purpose and it was beautiful. See, but explaining it trivializes it. It is SO much more!”

“But, what’s the point, Sophie? Why does it matter?”

“Because. It matters. Those moments are the only moments when it doesn’t hurt. Even though I can’t breathe, I feel connected. Connected to that other part of myself. The part that takes over when I have my fits. The part that is dying. It isn’t dying in those moments. It is part of me.”

“Sophie, there is no other part of you. Those moments are beautiful, and we all experience something like that occasionally, though it manifests itself differently for each person. But the fits are not connected to that. The fits are physical. And experiencing beauty is emotional. Nothing more.”

“How do you know that? How do you know, without any doubt, that there isn’t another part of me? Nothing else makes sense, and I can feel it. During my fits I can see it. It is outside of emotional and physical.”

“I know you feel that way, but if you can’t admit there is a delusion, you will never stop the fits.”

“This isn’t helping. How can you help me if you won’t believe me? You ask me to explain what I feel during my fits, and I am explaining, but if you don’t believe me, how can I fix it? Why won’t anyone believe me? Why can’t anyone SEE it? Why am I here? What is the point?”

“Sophie, calm down. Let’s take a break, okay? I will try to believe you, but I won’t indulge in your delusions. Just take a deep breath.”

“But I can’t, don’t you see? Breathing doesn’t MATTER anymore! I am dying and you are dying, and we are all dying. I can start to see it now. You are covered with it. You are smoldering! My hands are covered with it. All of my skin is covered. Yours too! It’s–you–how can you not SEE it? How?? It’s burning! It’s burning!”

“Nurse, I need some sedatives in here, quickly please.”

 

The doctor calmly lowered herself to the floor and held Sophie’s head in her lap as she waited for the nurse to come with the sedatives. Sophie convulsed in a seizure, but still muttered unintelligibly about burning, red things and dying. The doctor took a deep breath and closed her eyes. This was one of the worst cases she had seen. How can a normal girl go from being calm and coherent and intelligent one second, to this in the next? What is happening?