Speak

Speak
though your throat quivers
your mouth dries up
and its moisture reappears
in your tears.
Speak.

Ask the questions
that invade your mind.
Voice the doubts
that berate you.
Offer them to your love
with open fingers
though your hands
tremble.

If he is good
he will not punish.
If he is true
he will answer.

The success of your union
doesn’t depend on your virtue.
You alone
cannot destroy it.
But
if you’re the only one
chopping wood
and carrying water,
leave.
You are a Woman,
neither servile beast
nor maid.

Speak.
Let him meet you halfway
in the space between.
Allow him to step
into his manhood.
For don’t you want to be met?
Don’t you want a man?

Or do you need control
or victimhood
more than
love?

© S. Rinderle, June 2020

Grief (the first movement)

It is the saying of a thing
that brings relief
The courageous clinging
to maybe not
maybe not yet
perhaps this will pass
gives way to “what’s next?”
and the icy glass wall
of held breath and hope
shatters
freeing the waters
releasing the orcas trapped
inside my gigantic fishbowl zoo
to do what they do
best
flow and roam
in their natural habitat

A year is not a mood
I look past potential
to the historical pattern
of raw material
and no
this does not work for me
now
the signs are clear
I no longer belong
this is not my time anymore
I am no longer home

We can pretend we don’t know
we can wish it
but we can’t un-know
our very glands and cells rebel
against our stubborn denial
we see the cracks in the aquarium wall
we know it’s only a matter of time

It is the speaking of a truth
that brings relief
now there is movement
now I can breathe
now I am
free.

© S. Rinderle, 2015

Grief