Welcome to 2023, dear digital friends!
As winter rages and wanes this odd January (55F in Upstate New York yesterday, so weird) this poem came to me as a byproduct of a rather vivid, snowy dream.
…My Grandma Conway’s voice was on a loop, repeating, “Remember to communicate.” My wife and I were being buried in holes next to each other, brown earth midst white snow, each dressed in altar-boy -white frocks. Our epitaphs read, Unforgiven: Murdered by Cruelty…
Brrrrr… gives me the chills just writing it down. We have been married 27+ years, and I am not sure anything scares me more than the death of our love.
The odds were stacked against us, too. Married at 25. Kids at 26. Lost in our urgency and passion and naivete, we outpaced our Gen X brethren by an average of 5-10 years.
But we listened to Grandma. And we listened to each other (her way better than me, admittedly). And did our best through the highs and lows to trust and communicate.
Knock on wood… so far so good! And I am thankful for dreams like the one above that remind me how blessed my life truly is with her in it.
Please enjoy this poem! As always, would love to hear your thoughts and feelings in the Comments Section below.
-PS Conway ☘️ ☘️ ☘️
☘️ ☘️ ☘️ ☘️ ☘️
soft spaces between cruelties
blizzards rage bleak throughout the night
snows fall with the finality
of sepulchers, smother the light
by sealing the silence within
our bedroom a tomb two bodies
lie, side by side, angry thoughts writhe
in unseen tempests midst the still
outside this sateen immobility
winter winds howl with revenant’s calls
love’s demise is nigh, final chance
to make amends… apologize
before gravedigger spades break ground
this point of perspicuity
your hand in mine, snows subside
reminds us of how to revive –
mend those soft spaces between cruelties