warmth

“In the Absence of Light”
by

“In the Absence of Light”

There’s an absence of light
Behind my eyes,
An absence of words
In my fingers,
And on my tongue
Sings voices I have not heard
In many years.
There’s an absence of warmth
From my arms,
Where a baby would sit;
An absence of solemnity,
The kind that was sad
But also safe.
There’s an absence of fear
Yet an absence of strength
In my legs, enough
To stand on sand
As the chilling ocean waves
Sweep me out from under.
An absence of sincerity
Haunts my movements
And my intentions,
An absence of desire
For camaraderie,
Fellowship, constraint.
An absence of openness.
There’s an absence of light
Because I walk in the dark.
But in the absence of light,
I still walk.

Catherine Joy

by

“Sister, I’m Here”

Here is the second part to the two-parter I posted last Saturday. Enjoy!

 

            “I’m here, sister.”

            My sister. There she was. And she was looking at me.

            Oh, my sister. I ran to her arms. This room was bringing me to my knees. And there was my sister, in the room with me, and she saw me. She knew I was there. Someone knew I was there. Someone saw me!

            Her slim, pale arms embraced me. I was in a different place now, the place of my sister’s arms. Nothing changed; the voices were still there, but everything melted far away in the background. They were only just an echo you hear when you shout from a mountain side. Her voice was clear. Clear and solid and beautiful. I felt hot tears stain my face, and thank God they were hot. I was warm again, like being wrapped up in a blanket on a rainy afternoon. Nothing could hurt me here. I was safe. I was really safe. It wasn’t that simulated safety that had tricked me all those years. How often did I feel like I was in a machine? But not anymore. This was no machine. It was real, very, very real.

            I’m here, sister.

            Indeed, here she was. I had purpose now. A soft-spoken, understood purpose. The room smelled fresh, like a clean, thick robe straight from the dryer. The air no longer pressed into me, but rather smoothed across like water, crisp and serene. The coffee turned to the scent of tea. I love tea. Cucumber and spearmint. Who cared if I didn’t have the strength to stomach all the stuff others could? I drank my tea, and I always felt new. This moment was lovely. This moment was perfect. This moment, I was transformed.

            I woke from my dream, and I was glad to not be in that room anymore. I knew where I could really call home now. Someday, I hope I can be the one to say it.

            “Sister, I’m here.”

 

Let me know what you think in comments!