{ Little Letters }

It only took four sentences--

Seventy-nine words--

And in a moment I was reminded

Of how very much

I miss you.

And it only took twenty seconds for me to skim the lines

You had scratched out

Telling me you are still there--

Still digging your toes into the moist soil of an old continent--

Still that person I remember from the hazy yesterdays

Of our younger years.

And I only had to glance at the name on the letter

Before my heart

Leapt against my ribcage--

And my mouth

Drew back to reveal a girlish smile--

And my eyes

Glowed with a gentle warmth--

Because that

Is who you are.

That is who we are.

And that is why,

After all these years,

I can still say

I love you

And mean it.

{ A Manhattan Workout: Dear Upper East Side Mothers }

Start with the neck:

Slowly move it side to side,

And watch the people

You all too often ignore on your daily walks

To the store.

A stiff neck will serve you worse than aching joints

When age has finally caught the express to

Your body after years of

Traveling on the local.

Remember those are mothers on the sidewalk--

Not obstructions.

And those are students in the station--

Not pests.

And those are conversations you are hearing--

Not static noise.

There is a world of lives surrounding yours.

For better neck muscles,

Start noticing it.

For stronger biceps and forearms,

Pick up your child.

Lift him up each time his hands reach for yours,

Clutch him close enough to smell the lingering scent

Of Cheerios clinging to his body,

And rock him to sleep each night

As if it's the last time you will ever

Get to hold him.

There will come a time when--instead of picking him up--

You will only get to pick up after him.

And those will be the days when you wish

You could have held his small body

Just a little

Longer.

For your abdomen,

Laugh until your sides hurt.

Crouch down to talk to your child--

On his level.

Roll on the floor with him,

And see the world from the only angles he knows.

Chase after him with smiles,

Scoop him up off of the sidewalk,

And swing him around and around and around

Until his laughter ingrains itself in your ears

And you cannot help but join in.

Do not let his younger years

Be spent wondering

What joy sounds like.

For better posture,

Play dress up on occasion, and dress for you--

Not for fashion week.

Wear your confidence like you where your bra:

Make sure it fits and holds you up,

But let it pass unnoticed by the people you meet on the street

Who are led to believe

It is natural.

And instead of jogging on a coldly calculating treadmill,

Take a walk down Madison with your husband.

Don't forget what you've learned so far--

Realize you are not alone in this world.

There are other stories being intertwined with yours.

Walk with purpose,

Not impatience.

Remember you have already got to where you are going

Just by standing

At his side.

And to exercise the rest of your lower body,

Well,

You know what to do after that walk.

For elegant hands,

Practice hearty handshakes.

For healthy feet,

Use them to go to the places you actually want to go.

For fuller lips,

Smile every morning before you leave your home.

And for younger skin,

Let your husband leave his kisses along your

Neck and your shoulders and your elbows and your hands.

Let the vibrancy of his affection serve as the blush for your cheeks.

And if you yet need radiance,

Remember,

You are loved.

{ Anything at All }

Is there anything I wouldn't do for you?

He asked--

He interjected--

As the tears dripped from my lashes and filled the creases in my face.

Is there anything I wouldn't give you?

His words filled my ears with the roaring of lions,

With the magnitude of ocean waves colliding against the salt-sprayed rocks of a misty coast.

Anything at all?

And again my senses were overwhelmed with the beating of my heart against my ribcage--

Harder, as the deafening noise of his voice struck my ear drums once, twice,

Three times I heard the question.

Then again--

Is there anything I wouldn't do for you?

No,

Came my breathless reply.

I don't believe there is.

My mouth is parched,

Trying to articulate,

Trying to formulate,

Trying to make myself understood

For the first time--

Tears still clinging to silver-lined lashes,

Still clutching the lines in my face,

Still oozing down my pale cheeks in an attempt to make known

The thoughts bleeding out of my head.

Anything at all?

No! No, there isn't.

I understand.

But my tongue is caged behind my teeth.

I cannot answer, and so I am silent--

On the outside,

Shrieking--

On the inside,

Trapped--

Within my body,

Longing--

For release.

I heard you.

You would do anything for me.

But my heart refuses to let such information penetrate its guarded walls.

I can't handle the knowledge that I didn't earn it--

Cannot lose it--

Unable to deserve it--

That kind of love.

Yet every fiber of my being wants to work for it and prove I am enough.

Is there anything I wouldn't do for you?

No, there's not! I get it.

I heard you the first time

And the second time

And the third time.

I heard you when you knelt by my side and cradled me in your arms,

Heard it when you whispered in my ear and comforted me with promises I knew

Would not be broken.

The forth time

And the fifth time,

I heard you when you held my hand in yours and led me away from the explosions,

Let me away from the land mines that had been planted in my bedroom

And my hallways

And my sidewalks.

I heard you.

But I cannot hear you.

Anything at all?

Stop saying that! God, I'm tired of hearing it.

I don't want to hear it.

I don't want anything,

And I don't want everything

I--

I don't know what I want--

What I want at all.

I'm just so tired of the ache that fills every crevice of my chest when I'm not near you,

Can't handle the gnawing acid of my own depravity,

Sick of waiting on my own two hands to change the makings of my soul.

Is there anything I wouldn't do for you?

I heard you. I heard you. I heard you. I heard you. I heard you.

But now I've found a voice to answer.

And before I can stop them, the words slip past my lips--

Would you break me down until there is nothing left of me?

Would you burn the pieces of my heart that have infected my soul?

I try to stop my reckless words, but they gush over my tongue and saturate the air--

Break me. Break me. Break me.

I need you to crack the bones in my body--

That's what I want.

Let me fall to the ground and smell the soothing scent of soil against my scarred and weathered cheeks,

Feel the moist earth next to my cracked and bleeding skin,

The harsh gravel cutting into my side.

Take my limbs and make them submit.

Would you do that for me?

Anything at all?

But then would you make me whole again?

After you've broken me, would you--

Would you stitch up those gashes and force those joints back in their sockets and repair my fragmented limbs?

Would you pick me up and hold me on your lap so I can see what you see and feel what you feel?

Would you let me lay my head against your chest and listen to the thumping of your heart against your ribcage?

Is there, he said,

Anything I wouldn't do for you?

No.

I don't think there is.

Anything at all?

No.

You've given me more than enough.

Anything at all?

No.

You're more than I could ever deserve.

Anything at all?

He said.

And then I said nothing.

I said nothing.

I said

Nothing.

But now

I hear him.