Returning

Posted on January 26 2020 by J.W. Richmond

Returning
   to my teenage bedroom
       makes me
         want to open the window
               and crawl out on the roof,
                      lie down
               and look at the sky
                                     stars
                                     clouds
                    God created –
                       the God
                          I didn’t even really believe in,
                                yet –
               and listen to the world
                  one song at a time,
                     while contemplating life
                                            and death
                                            and everything
                                                I don’t understand
                                                     about people.
                                                     Or anything else,
                                                         really.

I’m not even sure
   I understand more now
     than I did then.

Maybe I am just willing
   to acknowledge
     that what I do know for sure
                 is I know very little.

Words

Posted on December 31 2019 by J.W. Richmond

enTheLiBetwenes
enTheLiBetwenes

I can’t identify
     all the words I said.

They tumbled out quickly
                          precariously
                          clumsily
                   then crashed
                     into each other
                        and
                           f
                           e
                              l
                                l
                           to the ground
                              in  p i  e c  e     s.

I don’t know
   if I am missing phrases
                         words
                         letters
                     or parts of all of them,
                             or
   if that’s how I put them out there
       because they were jumbled
                           and incomplete
                                  before I spoke.

What I do know
   is they don’t add up,
     and I can’t put them together correctly
                 or put them back
                         where they came from.

Solace

Posted on November 30 2019 by J.W. Richmond

I’ll never get tired
     of the ocean.

Even when the weather
     isn’t “perfect”
        for everyone’s preferences,
     and circumstances
        are difficult
             frustrating
             overwhelming
     and life is a mess,
               there is solace
                   and peace
                      with the ocean.

The waves
     are mesmerizing.
I could listen to them
              forever.
They are the sound
     of my soul
        being refueled
                 refreshed.

There seems to be
     a proximity
        to God
           that I don’t experience
              in the same way
              anywhere else.

And I am grateful
     for any time I get
              to marvel
                 at Him
                 and His creation.

House

Posted on October 30 2019 by J.W. Richmond

I woke up to see the bedroom door opening. It was hazy, entering back from the dream world. The room lit up dimly from the hall nightlight reflecting off the paint, then got darker again as the door was pushed back, almost closed but with a small slit.

He pulled back the comforter and slid under the covers next to me, like every other night.

Except it wasn’t. The movement was different. He was quieter than usual, not smoothing the sheets as he got in bed. And his breathing was off.

It wasn’t my husband.

Colin was out of town on a business trip, and there was no way he could have flown back across the country that quickly.

My heart raced, but I didn’t want to alert whoever it was that I knew he wasn’t who he was making himself out to be. I managed to lie there calmly, silently.

The breathing next to me evened, and I made my way out of bed as unnoticeably as possible.

Exiting through the door, I walked down the hall toward the stairs and tried not to put my full weight on the steps as I went down, so as to not let any of them creak or crack.

A bluish light peeked through the open blinds to the outside. Maybe it was a full moon. But we never left the blinds open at night. Had the man in my bed opened them before coming upstairs? How had he gotten in the house? Everything was locked and the alarm was on. Nothing made sense. The fear was screaming at me in everything I saw, yet it was also paralyzing. I couldn’t think clearly.

The windows were a little off. They were close, but they were larger than they should be. There was a porch out front, with a swing and chairs. But we didn’t have a porch. There were two windows on the south side of the house, but that was just a wall that had no windows. The dining room was larger than ours and the table was oblong, not rectangular.

Was this even our house? Did I somehow end up in someone else’s? And how would I get away from here so I would be safe?

A hand touched my shoulder from behind, and I jumped. So this is how I die.

My eyes open to a dark room. Our room. Our house. With the right dimensions and the right lighting. And I am alone. My heart is beating through my chest and I kick off the sheets to break away from the sweat.

It is real now. Isn’t it?

Wrenches

Posted on September 22 2019 by J.W. Richmond

It shouldn’t be this hard.

I know life can throw
     wrenches
       junk
              crap
           turns
         t
          w
       i
          s
         t
           s
                at all of us
           but it makes no sense
                why this should be
                      so excruciating
                      so difficult
                      so maddening.

Yet why do I
     keep expecting
         things to be different?

I fall for it
   every
   time,
     hoping that someday
           things will work out
              the way they should.

Instead
     I am disappointed
           frustrated
           angry –
                again.

Evidently,
   I should stop hoping.

Months
      years
            decades
                    don’t change the outcome.

Time
   and technology
          still
      can’t make printers
                      print.

Camping

Posted on August 31 2019 by J.W. Richmond

The reservation was made. The car was overpacked (my fault, because being prepared is way less stress than not having what we need), and we were ready to go.

It was the first night Jeff and I had alone together out of town in months.

Not knowing exactly what to expect, since we had never been to that campground before – and Google tried to throw us off a bit with the directions – we were not disappointed with the campsite. It wasn’t crowded, and it was quiet, which is exactly what we needed. The air was clean. The canopy went up easily. The space for the tent was mostly flat and the ground beneath it was smooth. 

Jeff went to start the fire, and I started setting up the sleeping situation inside the tent. I spread out the self-inflating air mattresses and let them do their thing while I zipped the sleeping bags together.

Then I checked on the mattresses. They both had inflated, so I went to tighten the first valve – which was broken, so it wouldn’t close and air could still escape.

Awesome. Because that is the entire point of an air mattress.

Then I checked the second mattress, and that valve was broken too.

Clearly, they were a solid investment.

“So the good news is we have air mattresses, since we finally bought them last year,” I told Jeff. “The bad news is both of the valves are broken so they are pretty much useless.” I mean, without the air, what are air mattresses other than small tarps?

The hard ground and lack of sleep that night was not great. But the cooler temperatures, time away with Jeff, and talking by the campfire while roasting marshmallows made up for it. And that we hadn’t been able to book a second night turned out to be a good thing.

That’s camping.

Something always goes wrong, but it’s worth it anyway.

17

Posted on July 27 2019 by J.W. Richmond

A throwback to when Jeff and I were dating, as we celebrate 17 years of marriage today.

The Words

You know me
all too     all well
you know     when
I hide because
you listen      to the
silences          between
you read my face
when I force it to
say nothing     pursue
me when I or
when I almost     run
you worry when I
don't call or if I am
late and I know    even 
if you do not 
say it     because
you show me
and you do not
give up on me     so I
know     and I do too

2001

Murky

Posted on June 30 2019 by J.W. Richmond

Free?
Free?

Suspended
             between
                    d
                    i
                    v
                    i
                    n
                    g
                        in
                and the overall catharsis
                    of              finally                   letting  go,
           unsure which way to   lean
                 because I’ve already done
                            both
                         (I think).

                  Either way I choose now,
                       it feels like
                       it could be 
             backwards.

I can’t place it,
   but something doesn’t seem quite
                     done –
              at least not entirely.

But maybe I also don’t need to
                                        (re)surface
                            old ghosts
                                   if they are meant to remain
                                       buried

                                         far

 

 

                                         far

 

                                         below.

Sometimes  b u rro w ing
                 in the past
       only digs up      remnants
            of what was always
                           supposed to be
                                              released
                                                       to move      forward.

There is
   no way to stop
               an impending storm.
There is also
   no reason to dig up
               decayed degradation,
               a rotted coffin
                       again
                         and
                       again.

It’s a murky place to be.

Hygienist

Posted on May 31 2019 by J.W. Richmond

Recently I went to the dentist.
While the hygienist
   was examining
   and counting
   and poking
   and scraping
   and cleaning,
     she also gave me a haircut,
         since apparently that was part of the procedure.

She never asked
   how I wanted my hair.
And she cut bangs.
Short ones.

I never had a chance
   to tell her what I wanted –
     numbness
        and fingers
        and metal tools
          in my mouth
             so I couldn’t speak.

But she was skilled
   and crafty
   and evidently handsy
     to do all that
        at once.

I kind of
   admired her for that.

And then I woke up.

Scrambly

Posted on April 28 2019 by J.W. Richmond

Tuesdays
Tuesdays

How could he explain
   the inconceivable
        iridescent
            pieces
    of impossible
            attempting to escape
                from within his brain?

They were small
                surly
                sc r a m  b  ly
                shimmery
                swirly
                whimsical
                fantastical
                fanatical
                illogical
          and clearly didn’t know
              where they were meant
                      to remain.