"change not closure"

I heard of ambiguous loss only last year, but it was one of those moments that helped me understand a lifetime. Pauline Boss who originated that term (in grad school!!) has a new book out in which they urge that we prioritize adapting to change instead of forcing closure. It was a day of making some tough decisions with Big A (out of state job) and Nu (school-related stuff), so this was a helpful read. 

What she says about the general response to the pandemic here really resonates: 

I've heard other people say the same thing — that they were more adaptable than they thought they could be. I saw it during World War II as well. I was a youngster then. People adapted and were extremely resilient and came through it, the ones that were still living. I see it again now. I'm again pleasantly surprised at human resilience. It's not true of everybody, but it's true of, I think, most of the people. And so I say this to people: Pat yourself on the back.

*Patting myself on the back.* 

anniversary

 

Yup, the anniversary of the most insane and scary thing I've witnessed in real time is tomorrow. 

Anyway, Jamie Raskin's book about this week last year is in my checkout cart--but I'm not sure if I'm ready to read it. 

Just his brave interview on Fresh Air nearly crumbled me. 

I am still not over Tommy Raskin (I may never be).

an international call

 

If you called my extreme condition: you might 

diagnose sister love--but do you know  

about the side effects

when my phone tells me it's her calling

--nausea, dry mouth, anxiety, 

shortness of breath

she knows this and inserts a subject line 

even as I--"hello?" "All's well, Akka,

I just called..."

 international calls are ordinary yet hide

like a virus inside information 

 finding a way to threaten

despite the softness of my sister's voice--

noisy futures sometimes dance 

alongside the old world 

international calls will make me watch--

make me guess who'll partner next 

parents, cousins, other loves

"I just called..." she says "one million cases..."

she says "I wanted to tell you all

 to be safe and careful."

Of course there's no way to be careful enough

(home is: a high school student,

a fast food worker, an ER doc)

I'm in the literal woods now (the metaphorical 

end of the sea), until the sun unhooks itself 

from a cloud shaped like a headache

and sails into the sky without even a cough

just this high, bright, and bored god

bearing messages--but not for me

-----------------------------------------------

Pic: Sunrise at Baker Woods. The phone rang as I was taking this picture, and I panicked when I saw it was my sister as it was kind of an unusual time for her to call me. She was calling because we--the U.S.--topped over a million NEW Covid infections yesterday. She wanted to ask the family to be safe and careful. But how? 

dinner conversation

the earth tilts into evening

I can hold you forever--

in arms, in eyes 

in a solemn ministry of love

my mouth is a vow 

(all words are wow)

I know love like loneliness

like a rescue animal

diving through fog 

in your marrows of strength

the tenderness of words

the tenderness of wounds

for when you ask me questions

certainty lies--folded between

my hands like grace

_______________

Pic: Family dinner yesterday; a serious conversation about cartoons. 

little

All I want to say about today is how much fun it was having a toddler visit us for a while.

Scout and Huck agree with me.

respairing

Honestly? I think I'm wary about 2022; I was way more sanguine about respair last year. 

Nu had some friends over to celebrate NYE at home; At went out with friends; Big A and I noshed while the puppies went between pets in the rumpus room (Nu and friends) to naps with Mama and Dada. Also: We pro-conned and discussed a job offer which would take take Big A to another state. 

We were supposed to do a whole family dinner tonight, but At's car ran into a curb and there's a weather advisory, so it'll be tomorrow (hopefully). I'm grateful everyone is okay-ish even while I will myself not to be superstitious about new year's day.

I'll carry myself into this next year 
conveniently mad
you know I've done what I could 

Happy New Year! Happy wishes!

2022, please

don't open and return these to me

we can be civil--here, take my hand 

shake it, I mean

don't like... coddle or confiscate it

__________________________

Poems from January 1 over the years: 

new year  

once more 

often 

nodes 

Jan 1st 

I took my kids to yoga today 

______________________________

Pic: The soapstone sculpture LB and TB gave us for Christmas. It looks like a very loving couple, and I think that was their point. (It also makes me blush a little with its intense intimacy.)

farewell, 2021*

I'm sure you did the best you could;

* I didn't mean what I said.