We all have private worlds

we all

Have private worlds of worry

And of joy. 

No one talks enough about the brave faces we put 

Between the world and ourself 

Or our own mirror  

This is the face of someone who is holding It together. 

And not always well. 

Dance is saving my life. 

But being surrounded by the tiny feet and faces of all the sweet babies

Of company members is equal parts hard and inspiring 

People don’t talk about how miscarriage and loss and fighting

Changes your resiliency 

I don’t know how to bounce back 

When the certain things don’t seem so certain 

So I look up. 

I stare into the lights. 

It feels like Ani says,

“Every pop song in the radio

Is suddenly speaking to me” 

I do “feel better when I’m dancing…

We can do this together…”

And parts of these moments are being stolen 

Because sadness is always under all of it

I dance for myself 

Because it reminds me who I am 

And I don’t know if I can be happy 

Or if anyone can 

If they don’t know who they are

And what brings them joy 

So I humble myself and step out onto the stage 

  
Vulnerable in every sense of the word

No more tears. 

And trust myself to do what my body and mind knows how to do

“I’ll keep on making the same mistakes. 

I’ll keep on making them every day. 

Try everything.”

And I will. This is for me. 

And for you. Because if I’m okay

Maybe we will be, too. 

But at least I’ve taken care of my half. 

This is mine.

I’m doing better than I think I am. And I have this right now. No matter what happens.  

I will step forward. Not back. 

Investing in Omens

I had a dream that you held my hand

as we were following sleep

drifting

and when I woke up, I was sure it was a dream

In the morning, after falling back into my pillow,

I woke up, wondering.

I told you that I’d dreamed it

and you said, no

It was real.

And my hands and feet

have become loaded with meaning.

My fingers

empty without yours to curl inside them, around them.

Ring finger bare, for the stage, for performances where lights

will highlight difference and reflect where it shouldn’t…

is also bare for other reasons; barren.

so I’ve replaced our ring, with one from my father, just for today.

Until it makes sense again.

My father; a circle of strength.

I am chanelling that moment, when he saw something sparkle and thought of me; a man who always made me believe anything was possible if I wanted it.

I am hoping he is right.

And many things have been said of dreaming,

“It’s only right that you should
Play the way you feel it
But listen carefully to the sound
Of your loneliness

Like a heartbeat.. drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had
And what you lost…”

Voices, not mine, mine, yours, all echo here.

And while my head and hands are distracted, I will look down, to my ankle, where the fibers are wearing thin.

Just a few strands left on the ribbon,

attached with so much expectation and hope

now hanging by threads.

I refuse to believe in not believing.

I will hope, against odds, because I believe that odds are worth bettering.

 

I try to keep my tears to myself. The gravity 

Of this moment 

Isn’t lost on me. 

I imagine life without you

On my own 

How quickly will I try to spill my feeling into a new jar

Transparent in its longing to be filled 

I will conceive of pregnant pauses 

And read meaning in all the hands and looks not held. 

Rereading the way 

I had no idea 

Where I was

And how far 

From you.  

I was looking at the clouds

For sun 

For bluer skies

Trusting I would find them if I looked.  

Should I

Keep looking 

For you 

In the clouds

In the dust 

Swirling around me

Grit 

In my teeth 

Cutting those words 

From moments 

Chained together 

Like paper dolls 

Childlike in the emotion and intent

Destructive 

Like …

I don’t know what. 

And craft won’t work here 

No forced fix 

You have taken your ball and gone home 

Both hurt

But I’m with you 

Because I’m thinking of you

Almost every second that you’re not here 

Except when I force myself not to. 

Braced for anything. Trying not to think. Because if I do, the tears start again, and it’s back to the start. 

What will we tell them?

Things start to seem less weird the longer you’ve been doing them. And things are definitely weird around here. Like… waiting for the¬†insemination to settle in (to hopefully be successful, after months of disappointing try/no tries). Part of getting through that alienating experience is trying to put less pressure on us and each attempt.

Perhaps that is why I found myself sitting beside my wife (hips propped up on a bazillion pillows) watching Cuban Fury. Yes, Cuban Fury. I had voted for Game of Thrones; but who wants to conceive to all that villainy and murder? Not our baby!

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Day two, the choice is clear. An upbeat musical. Mamma Mia. Who wouldn’t want to know they were ‘made’ in a loving, stylishly choreographed, star-studded environment. Plus the sound track is apropos. Also, she is looking for her dad … which might be a perfect segue 10 years from now into the ‘how you came to be…’ conversation. (Kidding). (sortof).

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Honey, come sit down. Mom and I want to talk to you about something. Let’s just watch this movie musical… and then we’ll explain everything.

The embarrassing, awkward part of that conversation, ironically won’t be that we are talking about sperm and baby-making… but that we’ll have to admit that we sat through Cuban Fury … all in an attempt to bring ‘you’ into the world.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.