Take Even My Suitcase

grateful photo credit: anna yarrow

The twins at preschool, I spend two hours organizing my writings.

 

My writings. Hmmm – my blog…oh- MY coffee! I am arranging my pillows to support my back; I can feel air passing through my nostrils as I watch and report this to you now, like I used to when I used to sit in meditation for portions of days on end, back then. Attending to MY anything, is noticeable. It has not been so for a so-so long time.

 

Over my desk, it’s warming to see your blankets are strewn, still moist from your night skin. Your toy trains awry on the boards of some wood flooring, and porridge, dried, clings to your bowl over here, near me.

 

In the silence of the house, now, I hear echos of your contagious giggles, and in a flash I wonder what you are up to at school.

 

My eyes teary, and my throat swelling with emotion, the reality of what it took to get to here weighs like a colossal rock, while grand love expands -scintillating- like all of space. I evaporate a moment.

 

I hear: I’d give it all up again.

There is still never, nothing, worth keeping, if it would keep me from you.

 

(and this mind-rant ramps up…)

Take it all. the bank accounts, I’d give them again. My profession, I’d lose again. The family- I can lose, yes, the friends, too. I ‘d give it all up again. For you.

 

What did I always still have? A suitcase, some boxes in a friends shed, a few bucks, a tattered sense of any identity, really.

 

Yes (tears start pouring over this coffee) – – Take even my suitcase.

 

I ‘d given it, I’d walk with a paper bag of things. I’d walk with nothing. If I had to. If I had to do it all over again. To get to you. To get to my children. To hold my children, as most precious, against my breast.

 

Yes. Take even my suitcase.