This Me

Grief and Frittatas

My brain sometimes forgets
That we’re done.

Too many years of loving
You by habit?

I’ve stopped fighting it
And am trying to be kind—

You asked me to
Do that.

---

Someone asked for my
Life plan yesterday—

My days are filled with land,
Travel, teaching, healing work, and writing.

Nearly the life I dreamed of living—
Except without you.

I don’t think you ever would have
Wanted this life anyway.

How many years went by?
Did you try to tell me?

Another one of those things
I should have already known.

---

Or maybe it’s my heart
That can’t let go.

Seeking your nearness
Day and night.

My head trying to find the story
That makes this make sense.

More tears—again.
Fuck.

---

I am finding my anchors
In this me.

Finding joy in pants that fit
And fluffy frittatas.

Trying new ways of moving
And dancing.

Taking time.
Taking care.

Leaning into presence
Over achievement.

Slowly digesting years of
Past mistakes.

Taking the loving actions
I know to take.

The future stretches too far.

Have to be careful not to
Break the past.

This me is getting in my own way
A little less.

Or the world’s false promises
Are less convincing.

No more striving—
Maybe wisdom,
Maybe menopause.

Self-criticism feels more
Toxic now.

Allergic to accommodating.
Intolerant of playing the part.

Redefining success
As moments of connection.

---

Can I learn to love
This me?

You loved me
When I was striving to be more.

You gave up on loving me.
I gave up on striving.

Some cruel cosmic mirror
Has cracked—

And there is nothing
Underneath.

Can I learn to love
Nothing?

---

Hello me.

Here we are.

Just you and me.

What would you like
To do today?