Deb
Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.
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I couldn’t look at her face

One more day.

Her cry was weak

My milk no longer strong enough

For a toddler

But I had no choice

No options

No food.

*

And the eldest one

11, a child-

a man with a gun

had grabbed her

had…touched her

had laughed

and I knew next time

it wouldn’t be just touch

*

every day was a struggle

a battle

just to eat

to feed my daughters

to protect them

from evil men

and so I ran.

*

I put our lives in the hands

Of a man I didn’t know

For 1000 small coins

I had squirreled away

From carrying garbage

*

And the journey was one

I could never repeat

But I repeated

“It will be worth it”

even as the man took me

my breasts heavy with milk

dripping as my baby sat in

her sister’s arms.

They were both crying

But he had said me,

Or her.

So it was me.

*

These girls are my life

I will give my life

I thought

It will be worth it.

*

We reached the end

And I thanked God

And wrapped my arms around my girls

And cried with joy.

We had reached the promised land.

*

The man turned to leave us and said

Cross there

When the sun goes down.

I said, “Wait, with you?”

He laughed

And squeezed my breast

And said, “Don’t you wish”

*

I had lost the ability

To even flinch

From the indignities

*

We hid until the sun

Dropped below

And then hid longer.

When all was quiet

We hid longer.

*

And then I woke her

And didn’t wake the baby,

Strapped her to my chest,

And we walked where

He had pointed.

*

The lights were blinding

The yells deafening

Chaos filled the quiet night

*

I grabbed for her

And they grabbed for her

and she was screaming

No! No entiendes!”

And they didn’t understand

As they dragged her away.

*

And they asked me questions

And I was sobbing for her

And desperate to find to her

And they were unwrapping the baby

And I was clutching her

And I was screaming

And she was screaming

And I was holding her

So tightly I thought I would break her

And they wrenched my wrists

And they tied them

And they took her

Her little legs kicking

Her little nails scratching

Her little teeth biting

And I screamed

And her screams stopped

When the car door closed

And my milk drenched my shirt

A waste.

*

Photo by Roi Dimor on Unsplash

May 7, 2018

Get Into Your Body

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Horse Magic Comments 0
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My legs were shaking, and my breath was coming in gasps. This horse felt like a lit fuse underneath me; so much energy that it fairly vibrated out of his muscles and skin and made mine respond in the same way. He is big and fit and powerful, and I often feel slightly out of control when I am on him. This day, even more so. I fought to stay calm, to trust my training.

Read more…

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***

Oh, Crossfit. I stare at my jump rope for a minute before the workout starts, hoping I will have some sort of epiphany. I mean, after 6 years, one deserves an epiphany, doesn’t one? Double unders – getting the rope under my feet twice for each time I jump – have been my nemesis since the beginning. There have been some ugly moments that include crying, throwing the jump rope across the gym, and threatening to choke my coach with it. On the (questionable) recommendation of a friend, I even slept with it under my pillow for a while and spoke sweetly to it. If you ask me to do single unders, I can do them till the cows come home. Doubles? Not so much.

Read more…

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No one ever wrote your name in the stars.

*

Never sat under the night sky

And pointed up, saying,

See how it makes an A, and an N?

You belong to the universe.

You’re made of stardust, child.

*

No one laid under a tree

In the shade on a sunny day

And pointed up, saying,

See how the world spins?

How all of nature is swirling with joy

Over who you will be?

You belong to Mother Nature.

You’re made of the earth, child.

*

No one wrapped you up

When you were angry or sad or scared

And pointed to your heart, saying,

See how you feel?

It’s okay. I’m here.

You belong to me.

You’re made of me, child.

*

Who taught you to

Narrow your eyes

Suspicious of everything

And everyone

Who will let you down…

Because they will let you down?

*

Who has said,

You’re not stardust,

You’re just dust.

You’re not made of earth,

You’re just dirt.

You’re not made of me,

I don’t want you?

*

Give me a chance, child.

*

Let me show you

The glimmer of stardust in your eyes,

And how your horse responds

To the earth in your body,

You two made of the same clay.

*

Let me show you

That you are me,

*

And I am you,

*

And we belong to each other,

*

And that it is safe to hope.

*

“The cosmos is with us. We are made of star-stuff. We are the way for the universe to know itself.”

- Carl Sagan

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I’m walking out of the gym, laughing about what my coach said about my deadlift. I step out into the sun and reach into my gym bag to pull out my phone. I flip up the screen, turn off the do not disturb button, and instantly my phone is bombarded with texts, all from my kids and my husband. The first one that comes through is:

 

If I don’t make it I love you and I appreciated everything you did for me.”

 

It’s my high school senior. The one who just signed a commitment to UC Denver and put a deposit down on her first apartment. There’s an active shooter at her high school.

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I was in yoga the other day, minding my own business as usual. I get in and out of there, not make eye contact, trying not to feel awkward whilst putting my thumbs to my third eye and saying, “Namaste.” I’m a crunchy, leftie, granola hippie, but that doesn’t mean I want to hang out with folks like me, for crying out loud. We’re weird and far too prone to violating personal space.

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Photo by Blaise Vonlanthen on Unsplash

Granted, it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, and I already have to defend my cooking nightly to my youngest. She came wandering into the kitchen as I was scrambling to cook dinner (and oh, P.S., hold the world together).

 

She innocently (?) said, “Hmm. It smells like coconut?” Now, I know she hates coconut, but she didn’t know I was using coconut flour to cook her favorite meal, chicken tenders. I snapped, “Yeah? Well it is! And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it!” (And by snapped, I mean yelled.)

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You know what makes me anxious about my anxiety? The way it just happens to me. Like, I’m walking along in the garden of life, picking daisies and enjoying the warm sunshine on my back, when all of the sudden, I become aware of something lurking behind a bush. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, but can never quite put my finger on it. I run through the questions in my mind: did I leave the gate open? Did I invite it in, somehow? Did I miss the warning signs that it was going to camp out in my body? Nope, nope, nope. It just happens, out of the blue, and that makes me anxious as hell. Anxious-er.
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I said:
Lord, come quickly.

It’s a favorite phrase of Christians – a sentiment that means, “It’s all too much, Jesus. Come back from the heavens and rescue us from this cesspool – this mess we live in. I can’t do it any more.”

And then, he said to me clearly:

I have already returned. It’s YOU. You are my way of saving the world.

But how? How do we save a world bent on destroying itself?

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September 28, 2017

Dear Daughter…

Written by Posted in Blog Posts Comments 1
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Photo by Daniela Rey on Unsplash

It used to be easy. Band-aids and kisses fixed skinned knees, a cuddle on the couch with your favorite book would cure a grumpy mood, a little extra time helping with homework would bring that math grade up to one we both felt better about. Brownies, movie nights, family time, commiserating and hating all the girls who hated you…easy fixes to problems we thought hard at the time.

But now, you are you. You have grown up ideas and grown up ways, but still with only the years of a fledgling. It’s no longer enough to kiss your wounds – now you’re learning on the hard road of experience, and I’m only there to encourage you, help pick up the pieces. I can offer that band-aid, but it seems insignificant and small compared to the hole I see in your heart. Read more…

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