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thefoxandthefairy-blog · 7 years

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I am Learning To Carry

(Reflections from the cabin of an airplane).

I am learning to carry,

the art of collecting pebbles, sea glass, strands of red hair

lost eyelashes, the brown smudge of lipstick at the edge of the lid

inside me-glass vials, liquid the colour of Jarritos; tamarind and strawberry,

Borrowed bottle caps, the shapes of fingernails; crescent moons.

We throw rocks into the ocean, a stone for each thing we leave behind.

The final stone, this year, the last ripple.

But there is much to pull back from these shores,

Sew pockets into the linings of my dress

Drawstrings at the corner of my skirts.

I am learning to carry.

Not leaving.

Taking the the waterway across the lagoon,

Packing paper lanterns and glass structure, calf eyes,

marine creatures carved of driftwood, the arch of seagull wings,

books hanging from the lamp post.

The curves of my body: Did I ever know such waves as these?

The pressed flower in my backpack, too much,

If I tip over, I will find my way back to sea.

When I land, I will buy a new notebook, soft leather,

write into it the shape of the young stones in my palm,

but also you,

the stone sculpture, the bookcase of seaglass I left behind

for you.

But also, the desert fox, the forest owl,

Waves are known to travel,

I with them.

There are sentences still burrowed warm,

my heart is the turn of a feather,

each tip a miracle.

When I pull my pages close, press my fingers against spine,

I find the imprints of freckles, the visitation of angel’s,

their kisses, my mother calls them,

but my angels have never had wings.

This act of carrying, it’s discovery.

I am very young,

smitten,

living in quiet celebration

of the last niggun,

the silver chamsah,

melted wax,

and paint mixed from egg yolk.

The nighttime here only leads us to another light.

So know,

I have never forgotten the mist in the morning, the first kiss, the last kiss,

the sheep in the living room,

challah that spills over the edges of the silver bowl,

the bubbles of prosecco on our tongues,

on the beach, the taste of salt on our lips

the tide pools of starfish and young skin,

wet, tangled hair,

seaweed littered like mermaid refuse,

stacks of paper, spilling, tumbling

shaking.

I am learning to carry.

I am learning,

such weight is this,

this carrying.

such lightness is this,

this carrying.

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