Unfinished Business

Screen Shot 2016-07-13 at 8.38.01 PM

On the day we met, we were damaged.

Bruised fruit, I heard someone say,

and yet I could see how delicious

we could be, if we focused

on our sweet parts. And, for a time, we did.

Each morning after coffee and canned peaches, we

paced the perimeter,

with each step I learned more about

the nature of your heart. So broken,

both of us, there, in captivity,

love-notes, plopped clumsily

into my hands, your lap,

the perfect place for a head to rest,

if only we could have tabled together, found a patch of green

under that hot Arizona sun.

 

At least we had popcorn and iced tea,

that one full moon,

when our bellies pressed

against each other, gleaming

side by side. That night, I imagined

eating chocolate animal crackers

on Wednesdays

the sifting sun

through your windows

an old denim couch

in an endless summer, the two of us

cool and cuddled for hours

back rubs on bad days

when you would kiss

the freckles on my shoulders.

 

Now look at us.

Me, a shadow in your life:

A lonely girl on a lonely journey

In a land peopled by strangers.

I could be holding your dusty hand

Laughing and loving so greatly

But you asked me to let you go

And not wanting to violate

your boundaries, I did.

Still, I can’t help hoping

That someday I’ll convince you

It’s better to enjoy one bruised piece of fruit,

Than no sweetness at all.

Did you ever have an unrequited romance? Do you still think of that person? That moment? How long has it been? And how do you let it go?

tweet me @rasjacobson

 

 

 

 

14 responses to “Unfinished Business

  1. Beautiful! I cannot imagine how painful this has all been for you. But at least now, your hands are open and ready to clasp whatever sweetness comes along. I pray it is more enduring. Hugs!❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • That’s such a nice way to think about things, Kathy. I try to hold onto that. I do. The in between time is so yucky. As you can see, very few people leave me comments these days.🙂 I’ve literally lost nearly everyone, in real life and in the bloggersphere. I have lost my platform, my friends, my family. And still I rise.🙂 What else can I do. Thanks for the comment.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I read earlier and came back to leave a comment and praise your courage. One of the frustrating parts of blogging is wondering is reading or just looking and liking. Love reading your work.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Not lost, Renée. Taking a break. Silently supporting you by not asking or expecting of you while you find your land legs and move from wobbling to walking, and soon, to run. Those who love and appreciate you recognize they need to show their support in a different way.

        You’ll view the world differently, and your friends and supporters may look different to you. But I’m very, very sure that you’ll find your way back to your platform– perhaps on a different level or place–and you will shine with light you wouldn’t otherwise have known you had within you.

        Your writing was beautiful today. Pieces of you coming back–stronger and smarter! ❤

        Liked by 1 person

        • Thank you, Jen.

          When I read your words last night in my car, I actually wept.

          And I know you’re right. Things are changing, and the right people keep showing up for me.

          And you have been one of those people, so thank you for that. I’m really grateful. And thank you for saying that you liked my piece of writing. It’s weird, sometimes the things that come so easily to me… well, I tend to minimize their importance and deny the idea that they might still be impactful: sometimes I feel like people can only enjoy the stuff that I slave over, writing that is more tight and “perfect.” But the reality is often the opposite. It’s when I’m in the flow that people best receive my stuff. It’s an important lesson for me.

          Liked by 1 person

        • What Jen said! I agree 1000%

          Like

      • I’m just starting to dip my toe back into social media, Renee, after the death of my dad in May. I hope you haven’t felt as if I’ve been ignoring you, hon! I want to support you however I can. Hang in there. xo

        Like

  2. Just got called in to eye doctor’s – will reply later! Promise

    Like

  3. Your writing is so very powerful. Stay the course. X

    Like

    • M: Thank you so much for taking the time to leave a comment: for your words here, and on Facebook. Isn’t is amazing that we are in touch? I’ve never not known you, despite the distance in our age and our geography, we have always been strangely connected. I really like that. Have a great day.❤

      Like

  4. Renee, great words – I read your post yesterday morning and wanted to reply, but I needed to think and promised myself (and you, secretly) I’d get back to a proper response and time ran out. That’s how life is sometimes, especially of late for me. Before I read your post, I read a from my daily devotional and the message and the Bible passage spoke to me – “God can bring times of growth out of our times of heartache.” Then I read your post and BOOM. We’re all bruised fruit. I know in my own life the events and issues of the past two and half years (my wife has lost both of her parents and an older sister) have taken a toll on my already shaky relationship with my wife… paired with my son who’s been pushing our limits since his 18th birthday and has recently left our home. We’re struggling and after I reading the devotional, I was encouraged. “God can bring times of growth out of our times of heartache.” When I came back to your blog post later, I reread the poem and your response to K.B. Owen and my heart sank a little. Life is a long road, be heartened Renee, allow others to help you along the way and remember that we often grow out of our times of heartache. Peace.

    Like

    • Clay. Wow. Just…wow. Thank you for sharing all of that. It helps to know that other people’s hearts a broken and bruised, too. And yet we still keep on keeping on, getting up each day and shuffling forward, each of us doing the best we can in any given moment.

      I believe in the power of the Universe more than ever (I’m currently writing a book about my experience in withdrawal and how it has absolutely made me realize that while I may be disconnected from the people who practice Judiasm in my community, the tenets are solid) I’ve started to study the New Testament and the Buddhist tradition and just all of it. Because it really does all lead to the same place.

      I’m feeling better this morning, Clay. I really am. Life is weird. I have this weird, invisible brain injury but…so what. Everyone has stuff and the people I best connect to are open about theirs.

      Like

  5. Six years ago, at the time of parting, I felt that I had been cut adrift and that I needed to get back to my safe anchorage. As the days turned to weeks and then to months, I began to realize that what I though was my safe anchorage had really been a depressing, isolated dry-dock. I began to see that in an attempt to sustain the unsustainable, I’d focused on a single purpose that sapped me of all the other wonders of life. Yes, I still have my job, cutting my grass, paying my bills, doing my laundry and the myriad other demands of life. BUT, what I realized is that I had hours of time to pursue things that I’d spent so many years repressing; music, singing, writing and, something I didn’t realize was a huge hole in my life as I previously knew it, communicating with other people!

    Of course I still think back and sigh. Thirty years of marriage doesn’t just magically dissolve by placing a personal ink inscription on thin sheets of processed wood fibers. It’s a much longer process than what the log experienced in its conversion from a forest tree into a beautiful sheet of parchment to be used for writing, drawing, doodling or even folding into a simple flying craft. I’m still somewhere in that process but, much like you’ve been doing, I’ve been seeing what I can do with who I am, or I should say, who I’m becoming. One of these days I’ll realize that those roots that held me rigidly in place are long gone and I’ll know just where to fold a few creases in my paper so I can really fly.

    Don’t think of yourself as a bruised, bitter fruit sitting on a shelf. You are still on the branch, growing, maturing and still not yet fully ripened. Who knows what hand will pluck you from the branch but I think the sweetness is within you to please the one that does.

    Like

  6. You express yourself so beautifully, Sweetness is a nice thing. I love you.

    Like

There's Always Room For One More Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s