#SOL16: Sometimes I'm Terrified of My Heart

I.

All day I have felt off as if something awful was just around the bend, waiting. And tonight I realized that I have lived with this sense of foreboding since last summer. It gets turned up and lowered by what seems to be mostly whim.

There are pattens I cannot see.

II.

Sometimes I'm Terrified of My Heart (M.A. Reilly, 2016)

I spent the day doing what I needed to do and beneath these daily tasks was the strong ache that comes from missing Rob so completely and I found that catching my breath was hard to do. The tears flowed as I walked this morning, right before I went into the local diner to meet new friends for lunch, while I waited for Devon at school, and after I cleaned up supper. Earlier this evening I placed a basil plant and a rosemary plant outside and realized that Rob will never see these grow or taste their leaves in foods I make. Yesterday, I bought pine nuts in order to make him pesto now that the basil is growing thick, forgetting that he will not be here to taste it. Every single day mail arrives in his name. Even though I know he has died, the millions of memories we made remain and now and then I act on one of these memories as if Rob was still here.  

Rob, whose will to live was so extraordinarily strong will never see another spring come and go. He will never see his son drive. And when Dev goes to the prom later this month, his dad won't make sure his tie is tied correctly.

All this loss is incalculable.

III.

Regardless of how good or bad I am, I will never kiss Rob again. I will never feel the weight of his arm as it settles with such certainty on my shoulder.  Last week I turned the mattress on our bed so I could sleep on top of his side and still I will never sleep with him again, feel his breath against the back of my neck, his lips at my shoulder.

The infinite number of things that comprise ordinary human life are now a list I cannot bear.


IV.

Desperation is a synonym for widow.
Making art offers a reprieve from what waits around the bend.
Sometimes, I'm terrified of my heart.

Where I'm From (Based on George Ella Lyon's Poem, "Where I'm From")

Where I'm from (Based on George Ella Lyons' poem)

M.A. Reilly 

I am from blocks

of ivory soap

of ice wedged between milk bottles

in the summer,

from the white gabled home

with its small patched lawn

so solid against sudden storms.

I am from the gnarled Cherry tree,

its pale pink blossoms

translucent

against the wet, black bark.

I’m from tinseled trees and piles of books

from Catherine Mary and Robert Emmett.

I’m from daily piano scales and Bach Inventions

From Pop who played ragtime, all the time.

I’m from “batter up,”

and “I was just passin’ the time of day.”

From Marches on Washington

to “say five Hail Marys.”

Knowing too well the shy comfort of the confessional,

So dark and thick with secrets.

I’m from Stamullen,

tucked tight alongside the Irish Sea.

From late afternoon tea with those

who came back from the war

and those who could not.

I am from all of this

from the limbs that formed

those long afternoons

strong in ways I’ve learned to test.