“The golden brooch” by Julia at her desk

Friday March 27, 2020
5 minutes
The courage that my mother had
Edna St. Vincent Millay

What’s strange is the passing hour
a molding from my hands and into this
I sat down with one thought in mind
and it floated on into the next the way
I think it was all meant to do in
the early place

It’s been a combination of moments and
avoidance and fear that keep an idea
stranded there on the tip of the tongue
waiting for someone to say the damn thing

Say the damn thing already

I want you to know that there is love
here for you even if you don’t recognize it

I want you to know that we can’t give up
on our joy even if we lay it down every
now and again

I want you to know that there will be
something different at the end of this
sentence and if you follow it till the
end or to the almost end or to the last
word you might notice something lingering
there that you never tuned into before

I want you to know

that the damn thing is this:

One day we will brush past each other
on a crowded street and it will be more
like a pinning to the chest or arm or
thigh and we will be stuck together as
if we never left this hallelujah
in the first place

“Limit to your love” by Julia at her kitchen table

Monday March 3, 2014
5 minutes
A cover by James Blake of a song by Feist

I’m begging that there isn’t
that there never ever will be
that you’ll say when I die, that that’s it for you too now
that if you never met me you wouldn’t have made it to 40
I don’t like the idea of one day you realizing how awful I am
You accept all my things, my good things, my bad things, with such selflessness
I’m dreading “one day”
I’m dreading “sometime”
Because what I’ve learned from you by you loving me
is that love is a CHOICE
and that you could have had your pick
and that they all would have chosen you right back
People say you can’t help who you love
I disagree
I say you can help it, and you should help it
Put a couple extra smiles into the mix, a few more tonnes of laughs and understanding, a spoon or two beyond the recipe of sacrifice and open minded, full hearted, unbridled compassion
see the person in front of you with new eyes every day
look into their souls from their baby pictures and notice
that the good natured innocence is still there
that love is a choice because we make it, because we want it
Not because it falls into our lap and we just agree to keep it
It’s a garden in metaphor for a reason
The grass is only green where you water it
because that’s the true secret to love