As I posted yesterday, when I was younger during Holy Week, I think
I believed on Good Friday Jesus actually showed up and died again.
One of the most challenging aspects of carrying this belief around as
a child is that after you leave Good Friday mass, there was this day where
we were just left in limbo. It was a day of 'waiting,' essentially. It was
the great in-between time between two significant events. As a child, that
one day felt awkward and strange. As an adult, it feels like what we would
describe as 'the in-between time,' or 'life.' It is the time we spend the most
time in. We are typically bookended by exciting events; however, it's not
strange that it's not an exciting event. It's more strange to be somewhere
other than in the in-between or 'the waiting.' We live the majority of our
existence in this time. As I was looking through poems surrounding this
topic, the amount is incredible. There is so much writing that occurs in
this time. We wait to have feelings reciprocated. We wait to have feelings/
relationships end or begin. We wait for notification from the doctor
that we or someone we love's prognosis. We wait to accept new
challenges, for them to begin to feel like they've become part of our every
day. We wait for prayers to be answered, for politics to change, for
people, places, events. There's waiting in almost everything we do. It's
an uneasy place to rest certainly; however, it can be anxiety provoking
and it can be extremely exciting. It is as the late great Tom Petty wrote,
'the hardest part,' because sitting in uncertainty (good or bad) is just
an uncomfortable position for all of us to sit in.
You will return
Huddled in your mother's quilt,
Wearing the same flesh,
Perspiring the same baffling conflict,
Continuing to make blue a conflicting color for me.
All your evicted natural flaws will be
Handed to me like a bouquet of Black Eyed Susan's.
Lonely as a poached orchid
At a roadside stand on a Florida back highway,
You will be. The nothing from
Your lips will shred me
Into tiny confetti pieces that only promise
To stain the pristine white of every room of my being,
Purposefully decorated colorless
After you left. I cannot deny
You as the water in the vase,
My dry stem has been longing for,
The unbreakable cookie jar finally full, you appear
Gnashing my hours, my skin,
My palpable heart.
You cannot burn me on the outside.
You'll just singe right through the middle
Burning me at my core.