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A bit of a problem today with one friend
Who insists and elaborates how my life
Could so improve,
As if my saying no only proves she is correct,
If only I would think as does she. Somedays just thinking
Is so hard.
A good day painting outside near the studio
Friends nearby doing what they like to do.
I enjoyed that.
Not so much the what I should do’s.
I don’t know, but frankly, no one else has
The answer either.
Painted in the afternoon in the studio
Have spent the week doing anything but that.
Friends come tomorrow.
Took out your frames today, started finishing them.
They line my studio wall, painted and gilded
Ready to wax.
Took them out, thought of your hands
While I worked on them, missing your deft
Touch, now gone.
I’ll frame them dear to keep long as I will live.
I’ll see you in them and touch them as if you.
It storms tonight.
Really hate the pool, shocked today
Trying to get it in shape. Bitten by the cur
while feeding it,
Spent the afternoon into evening at the studio
Watching others go about their time off
As I realize
How much I am alone outside, ever looking in.
Was even as a kid and then you took me in and
We found belonging.
A friend talked me halfway home.
A sweet pleasure, as is now knowing others
Do remember us.
Hate that pool but love seeing friends use it,
Home late afternoon to join the pool party
And settle down.
Hotdogs and hamburgers and chicken
Grilled at their house later, so tasty,
Remember our fathers.
It is a long drive back to where we lived
When one is not sure the trip will be good.
I go anyways.
In the late afternoon follow a familiar road
To see a young woman married on this farm along
the river bank.
To greet folks not seen for too long and find
We are both remembered. May these two find
Our same beauty.
Tired, I drive to the island, open shop.
Tired I work through the day, alone,
Tired of that.
Up early, meet a new friend and go hunting,
Hoping for skipjacks in Deale, looking to photo.
We found three.
And I liked watching him talk to folks,
Finding who had boats around in that way
Men have together.
Listening to his stories, spending a few hours
Differently. I would like to continue exploring like
Men always have.
Right now I prefer painting alone
In this new studio, turning on the music
Painting to that,
And singing to myself, because it is easier to do
Than to let my studio-mate do on her own
And keep shut
Unless asked. It has been several decades since
I so shared studio space with another. Where ever is
Deanna Foster now?
First opening in the new shop
No sales, but people did come through for
The Second Saturday
Art Stroll. Indeed, some came specifically
To see us and the response online has been good
Still, no sales.
And although there were no sales,
There was interest and conversation,
Which is good.
Meet with friends for a bite to eat
And then go home to continue trying
To find order.
Am feeling rushed this days and pinned,
The meds don’t help and I am far behind
But crying less.
It helps, knowing it is not all me, helps,
But part is, the part I have not addressed.
Needing a crutch.
These handful of days, I cry, often, feeling
As adrift as those first days without you - no better
Now, than then.
I cry, often, feeling bereft and alone. Well, I am.
Only lately it cuts so deep. I have laid your knife hard
Into my wrist,
Not yet deep enough, just not the time.
So, I cry often, I cry, I cry, and as ever, no longer
Does anyone hear.
Swing today between what is important
This shop or my thunder scared dog
This shop or
My dying cat? Easy what wins.
Drove through rain to where those beings
I care for.
Surrounded by them, watching, finally
A Triple Crown. Called Joel because,
Couldn’t call you.
Painted in the Chincoteague studio today.
I miss my dogs underfoot. I miss the life
We all had.
Without them just underscores what I am
Now, a person alone, who has only herself
To rely on.
Which is not a bad thing and even admirable,
But I am not that yet, neither reliable to myself
Or anyone else.
However I consider all this,
I should include the meds, which are known
For misaligning moods.
I am prone to stillness, to melancholy
Lately these dip deeper. I am left snared
In despondency, crying.
Much of this season I am
On my own and, the down days
Outnumber the good.
Perhaps it is true, we are not put here
Solely to be happy, that even contentment
Will not last.
These may be true, but I am willing, however
Mired and pinned I feel, even still, to flail
Against this hopelessness.
And then comes along days grayed,
Masked past simple contentment
Choked with fears
For life gone, for emptiness ahead,
For moments filled with single tears.
Grief for days
Past, futures gone, and present asks,
Finally, feel only the aches of
Being fully alone.
A wonderful, rainy day, gray and enclosing.
I go no where but to my easel and work
Out a problem.
Visit with dearest friends through phone
And feel connected afar and connected
Within my soul.
Not always an easy place to reach
And so more treasured when achieved,
However fleetingly so.
By the end of the day, no news is good.
Evidently I remain HCV free, however at
Odds I feel.
So I putz through this day doing small things
That anchor me to the ground here and inside
To my soul.
None of it large or important, just quiet
And settling to my psyche which these days
Teeters on edge.
