Pulling at a Memory

A few weeks ago, a co-worker and I started doing a staff seminar with our interns.
She and I chose to focus on storytelling and writing and talking about how to do these things well.
Part of that, we believe, has a lot to do with just meeting the blank page.
So, last week, we met with the blank page and a tiny prompt.
This is what happened on my page:


You were at the ice cream shop.
I was on the beach.
Crying.
Lamenting the uncertainty in my bones
when it came to you.
She was on the phone, listening to my doubts.
Calmly.
Kindly.

You were at the ice cream shop.
I was on the beach.
Tear tracks.
Swollen eyes against the wind.
She kept listening as I talked in circles.
About you.
And your
inconsistencies.

You were at the ice cream shop.
I was on the beach.
Wondering.
Hoping for an ending to this night
that didn’t end with tears.
She told me about believing
in me
and you.

You were at the ice cream shop.
I was on the beach.
Watching.
Your cocky walk down to the edge of the water,
the edge of what I wanted.
She listened to the excitement
building.
Honest.

You were on the beach.
In front of me.
Focused.
Seeing a moment you wanted to seal,
binding us to this patch of sand.
A smile in her voice, she
stayed.
Cheering.

You were on the beach,
walking ahead with him.
Sated.
Believing what you took
was yours to take.
She kept listening,
ready,
for the breaking.
___________________

Thanks for reading.
You all are very awesome. :)

Remember to take care of you.

Metaphor Turning in my Head

This week, I've thought a lot about the ways we close people out and the ways we desperately want to let people in.
The result:


If my whole self were a patch of woods, there would be a well, hidden deep inside them.
My whole self couldn’t be a garden—a garden is too pretty, too fragrant, too obvious.
No, I would have to be the patch of woods.
With its invisible spider webs to trip you up
and its snaking roots to make you stumble
and its eerie silence to conceal my secrets.

But that’s not the point.
No, the point is the well.

It hides my most vulnerable parts deep, deep down in the earth.
Though I could whisper in the wind that you should take a look,
I wouldn’t because I need you to prove you’re worth the whisper first.
See, if you don’t even stop to have a look at the well,
I already know.
If you stop to look but you get angry because there isn’t a pail close by,
I already know.
But if you stop to look with your brow quirked like a challenge,
I might take a chance.
And if you toss a coin to see how far it goes down,
I would know that you’re not afraid of a little investment.
If you go in search of a pail and actually come back to see what you can find,
I’d know that you’re worth the risk of letting you pull up what is hidden deep down in the dark.
Yes, I would know that you might be safe.