Tracing Your Scars

spending 3 months w/ someone who did not care for me

Tracing Your Scars
for SG who at the time was building a house for his ex-wife
4/2004


Something in me has grown, these past few months,
  knowing you
a wildness, a recklessness, an edge; Optimism struggling through
  the maze of despair in that part of my mind.
     (not quite lost, but never quite fully encountered either).

Would it be that it may one day sit down at my table,
  and make itself at home.
      then maybe I could dislodge this trepidation,
born of  balancing precariously between the two worlds of faith and rationality,
    unable to move too far in either direction lest I lose sight of one or the other.

Is this how you feel,  I wonder, while observing your sleep,
   running  my hands unconsciously along the angles and planes of your body,
(Another woman did the same before me, I know, but I like to think I appreciate it more)
    and moving a strand of hair away from your eyes. I watch you dream.
Do you ever dream of me?

We have lost much, you and I, individually,
  but seem to have encountered a multitude more ,
while sifting through sandy layers of joy and sorrow, both,
  searching treasure.
(that which we found safely set aside and locked away, for we do not yet know where nor how to cash it in).

This dance we do, whose steps we stumble through, a newborn fawn
   learning  to walk;  
is it the means of more or the end in and of itself?
I challenge your gaze with mine-
   we are two strong, stubborn fools- but if rationality
could dissipate but a moment, is it not possible we would discover
   the whole to be grander than the sum of its parts?
(Loving is not an innate skill, but must be learned, repeatedly)
You meet my challenge, but remain silent.
   Perhaps our bodies speak what our words cannot.
But are you really there?

Before you, my steps were planned; there was a rationale
   to my future.
     now I have learned the meaning of the tempest. You have unleashed
this recklessness;  I could challenge the gods
(and maybe demand an answer or two)
    but submit to you. I know, looking at you,
‘I could drown in this man’s soul and be content’, and together unlock the secrets
   to the mysterious Universe itself.

Is this how you felt with the one who betrayed your heart to be true to her own?

Another few weeks, an eternity in miniature,
  you will have reached your goal, finishing your labor of love and pain, and you will hand it to her.
Then may you be in a position to abandon your past, shedding a coat
   you have long since outgrown.
Your demons will not be vanquished, but you will be liberated

    to face them.
Liberated, as well, to embrace me, but also completely freed to walk away.
  (Do I even know which option I fear more?)
Your words to me say one thing while your eyes and body seem to tell a different tale.

Between worlds is no place for human habitation; one cannot, indeed should not, build a dwelling
   on sacred ground.
Passion need not be a tempest always, for sometimes
  a gentle soaking rain is needed to heal the earth,
thirst is not always quenched by a downpour, and flash floods
   will not sustain your crops.
Balance, beautiful, deadly, precarious balance, between my world
    and yours;
we both walk fine knife edges with utmost caution and amazing skill
(mountain goats would be envious)

Ages ago, it seems, I asked for help, and set out
   to find my vocation; instead, the trail leads me here,
to you.
I ask the powers that be to assist me in finding my life’s calling, and, laughing up their sleeves,
  they sent me to this time, this place,
compelled to follow a man who cannot and will not return my passion,
   or give me more than one night at a time in his bed.
Maybe this is the lesson from between the worlds, where the spirits dwell-
  sometimes, all we get is
Here and Now; maybe the gods do not care so much how I make a living.
(and hope is still wandering that maze, not yet completely lost, but fading every day you do not respond)

I run my hands over your body’s scars, committing them to memory, searing them into my brain
   but despairingly cannot seem to get near enough to touch the ones
beneath the surface.
I realize now that I would need you to guide me there,
            and worse, that you just don’t like me enough for that-
I will never compare to her, and that is my failure

as you perceive it.

 








 

Author's Note

As with all of my poems, this is a story. I tried to capture that moment of recognizing you love someone much more than they even like you, and wishing with all your heart it could be otherwise.

Reviews

[Sorry Infamous]

Well, I can honestly say I have never read anything on this site that actually brought tears to my eyes. This was beautiful, written from a heart that can only speak the utter truth about longing. I was captivated from start to finish. Thank-you for sharing. Just knowing that I am not the only one to feel like this makes everything just a little bit better.

[Through the Gateway]

I like this. It is exquisitly depressing.

"Is this how you felt with the one who betrayed your heart to be true to her own?"

I love this line!

[Cool Handless Luke]

"I run my hands over your body's scars, committing them to memory, searing them into my brain
but despairingly cannot seem to get near enough to touch the ones
beneath the surface." That's very good imagery there. This is a very strong poem - I love it.