i'm baking a vintage caramel cake from scratch to celebrate this...

i’m sitting in my bed, legs crossed and enclosed in freshly washed sheets and a wild-flower printed duvet typing and watching the rain fall in light sheets over my earth.

the rain in may falls like gossamer politely nourishing my outside beds and me in my inside bed. i have to be still to catch it.

i have to be quiet to hear it.

i have to be sensitive to feel it.

so i sit. i sit with my hips planted firmly, my elbows resting on my knees…and my fingers dancing in front of me on a tiny keyboard.

this is my happy life.

gossamer may mornings…staged underneath grey clouds surrounded by green beds.
sitting in fresh, pale pink sheets underneath a down blanket covered in a 10 year-old, wild flower printed ikea duvet cover

i am happy with gossamer grey sheets.

i have to sit still…look out and watch. i must be still and listen.

listen to my voice…listen to my words and the conversations i type out.

if i’m still i can catch a drop…and watch it travel quickly towards the bed and into me.

this morning i woke up early  laying on edward’s pillow. i started to write poems in my head for him:
                                   

i wake up and find myself laying where u left...even in sleep i seek the heat of you to warm me and rub my aching hip joints till i fall back to sleep.

I smell you even in freshly laundered sheets...i can feel your slick shiny black hair tickle my nose.

when i'm up a 3 am and your laying facing me...intently breathing in and out...quietly snooring in your own way...i whisper "i love you and you say "i love you more"

how can you answer me in your sleep?

i'm just content to lay my head next to yours and feel your hair on my cheek.

when i'm cold i stretch out my legs and let them wonder to the east, where you lay...you let me rest my cold knees on your hips and twine my feet and toes between your legs.

you warm me and i tickle you.

so i'm still. i lay still so you can sleep.

you are my sun and i am your cold earth...you be summer and i be winter.

we together are a cycle of sames and differents.

we are nature -- a landscape mix of nappy and straight, amber honey and white dandelion sap, tall stretching trees and short wide squash bushes.

we set out runners in wild earth sprouting our hybrid seedlings who grow different from us.

we are the riot and violence of nature tucked beneath the warmth and cold of earth peacefully growing. if they sit quietly they'll see us put on a show.

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

our bed faces north. every morning mon-fri. i find myself laying on edward’s pillow…laying in the east with the rising sun on my face waking up cause he’s not there. halfway in slumber i sort of wake up as soon as he is out of the bed…searching and moving east to find him.

he tries to get dressed quietly, brushing his teeth with the water off…quietly removing his pressed white shirt and tie from hangers, and slowly getting dressed. he combs and slicks his hair back in the downstairs bathroom…where charlie our bird sleeps. he doesn’t want to wake me, but i don’t want him to leave.

if he sees my eyes are open, he’ll come over and kiss my forehead before he leaves the room.

“bye babe.”

i still hate it. hate that everyday is not a weekend morning that he is here when i wake up.

i love him. but he says he loves me more. i want to take offense to that but after 12 years of going back and forth i don’t.

i’m just happy that he helps me grow.

i’m happy that he talks with me during the day from work and listens to my housewife drama.

i’m happy that he comes straight home from working overtime and plants my blueberry bush and helps me cover my new herb and flower bed with tree bark mulch.

i’m happy that at the end of the night, he lets me pick out all the splinters his hands gathered, even though he’s too manly for doting.

i’m happy that he allows me to nurture him in this small way.

i picked out the tiny, invisible splinters with his big pink, calloused hands in my small, brown, soft slender hands and thought, “i love the care and keeping of you” quietly to myself as i twisted his wide right thumb back and forth looking for more slithers of wood. i looked up to see if he knew what i was thinking.

“ki, i can just wash them out” he answers to my eyes. i insist on picking them.

my hands are softer, yet his collected all the tiny pieces of wood. fitting. this is how he always protects me. this is how he always has an answer to the question of me in his life.

“i love you more.”

-ki

Comments

[carpet cleaning scottsdale]

That is a hearty piece of baking. I love the way you did it.