My boyfriend and I "broke up" on election eve - unexpected, but the signs were there. Time has been passing slowly and swiftly for me, processing, grieving, and now rebuilding. Times of silence, finally talking it out, feeling the pain out, reading, writing. When we talked a few days later, he told me of the poem of mine that said his feelings, the one I wrote a long time ago and almost forgot about. Can we still be friends? Yes. But things will never be the same between us and my life is now moving on, changing seasons with the first snow.
When I teach one of my writing classes, I reference a poem from Yuko Taniguchi, a Minnesota poet, from her book "Foreign Wife Elegy." I won't list that one here, but reading her book again I discovered this one, that is appropriate for now.
"But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?"
-- Galway Kinnell
I practice piano and repeat scales one hundred
times every day because what we do today
becomes tomorrow's harvest; practice makes perfect.
Bach's prelude drops layers of voice all at once.
Over and over, I practice until I realize that the sound
full of sorrow demands a complete
separation from the pianist
full of sorrow.
Walking into the dark tunnel alone
at night frightens you, though you may
overcome this fear if you practice
this every day, or you may never
overcome it like the terrible emptiness
inside you; it does not make you stronger.
All the living that you did
suddenly seems like practice
for dying, but living is not supposed to be
a rehearsal for death. We are never ready
for departure, but the curtain is wide open
with lights shining on the stage. You are getting up
slowly. Soon you will walk away from us
as if to practice walking
for the first time.