poetry

I went to a poetry workshop this evening and read a poem from this blog, and tomorrow I will read "Open Sky." I don't consider myself a poet, but still. Words seem to diffuse the pain; somehow they soften the blow. Perhaps, the act of creation helps smooth my rough edges.

I cried when I read, in front of people I had just met. Whatever. I don't care. Perhaps my words will help ease someone else's pain. Perhaps sharing my experience can soften their rough edges.

I don't know. It's late and the summer crawls along. I weed and water and try to train my sister's horse. I sleep a lot and have read a bunch of books. Diversions. Tricks to tick the tock and survive the day.

Nik's poppies have blossomed and yellow lillies brighten his garden. The rock walkway is almost complete and I made a rough start on the wall. I can't move the heaviest rocks. And Nik's not here to help me.

We went to San Pedro and walked along the beach. The boys said that you used to ride for hours along the coast line. We hiked down a cliff and then everyone took a handful of your ashes and found a spot to set you free.

I remembered when we went to Hawaii. You loved the tide pools, and so I let you go in a tide pool. Hermit crabs scampered across the rocks and the wind tasted of salt (or was that just my tears?)

We miss you, Nik. Everyday.