Woods

every spring

I walk among these woods.

I know every tree

every rock

and stream.

Everything is alive again

thriving with a fervent desire

to leaf, bloom

life

creating life

-even between the trees that have fallen

where

woodland poppies grow,

where small yellow blooms like drops of morning light

emerge.

the soft

curious smell of

trees and earth

always smells the same

year after year

in may.

a smell of musk

and sweat,

that intimate perfume

that lovers know,

drifts from tree to tree

and along the forest floor.

In these woods

life is made,

and I walk through it

or sit in it

listening to the heart beat of trees.

By J. Hamilton

disconnect

your silence is as heavy

and as

claustrophobic as the weighted blanket

that tried to crush anything that breathed beneath it.

the calls you dont answer,

the messages that remain unread

make me wonder how I can reach you.

there is a huge disconnect between you

and all around you.

how do I disentangle the stories from the truth

when I have not heard your side of the story.

you fail to respond

as’though you have failed to exist.

and all I want to do is reach beyond the weight of silence to see your face.

by J Hamilton

Your life

After so many years

And seasons between,

You left your door open.

Small, white espresso cups

Sit unwashed in each room.

Proof that waking up

Is still not easy for you.

A conference poster,

Hangs in your kitchen,

With your name emblazoned,

A date that has already passed

corners curled

Letters faded,

Of a city I may never see.

Your life still seems so exciting.

There are other places you have seen since then,

Many more places you will see.

On a plain pine table

Sits

A vintage

Collected Works of Carl Jung.

A  book you have only read a few pages from.

You are waiting to find the time to read it.

You are waiting to find the time to visit your mother country,

Sit on an open veranda of a coffee shop

And read it,

Because in its words, there is meaning for you.

You say that,

Maybe you will retire soon.

Live in Canada for half the year,

And the rest

In Europe.

My mind repeats those words again and again

As if trying to grasp what it can.

Because for so many years

You were absent.

It was almost as if you stopped existing.

Then suddenly,

Here you were again,

With that familiar

Smell of stale cigars

And espresso.

By J. Hamilton

Morning bloom

You have taught me

A new way of loving.

As a morning bloom of sun

Lays across your back

And your quiet breaths rise and fall

Like slow, soft waves

I know how lucky I am to know you.

Your love sits in that cove

That beats inside my chest

And even in the coldest of winters

I know I am not alone.

You lay beside me,

Warm,

Lids pressed shut and dreaming.

J. Hamilton

Where words are buried

Words are buried

Deep inside

Along bone

And muscle,

Inside the blood

That travels through me.

It is too hard to release the burden

Of these words

Because they no longer sit on my tongue.

They ache

Inside me,

Ache

Like the way skin feels from.a fresh cut

Ache

Like the moment anguish replaces clarity,

Ache

Like the tumor silently growing.

By J. Hamilton

I

Stories

It is painfully alone

To be here.

A witness to your darkness.

To be in this place

To watch you

Try to reassemble parts

Of yourself

That don’t know how to reconnect.

Even the cuts run deep

Yet I know they exist

In places that cant be seen.

Dried red blood

Like the skins of parched flowers.

You wear them like stories;

Unspoken,

Metaphors.

By J. Hamilton

Here I am

Feverish

And my half sleep

Thoughts

Take me to the one

Of many firsts.

By J. Hamilton

Village Street, La Roque-Gageac, France

#Village Street, #La Roque-Gageac, #France

Village Street, La Roque-Gageac, France

The dance of your life

How hard it must be for you

To see the empty spaces in your closet

Where years of ballet costumes hung

And beneath

Where piles of worn through ,

Pointe shoes gathered.

You remember where it all began,

Through my memories

And your earliest ones.

It started even before your first dance class

Even before you learned how to walk.

When you were a baby

The only thing that took your pain away

Was when I danced with you in the night

All hours of the night

When you couldn’t sleep.

You would rest your head on my shoulder

And there was peace there

In the unsung melody

And the rhythm of movement

With the two of us in a hallway

Or unlit room where night kept us company.

The next best thing

When you were only 2 years old

Was your music box ballerina.

We both laughed as I twirled you around on your wood bedroom floor

As we listened to the first few notes

Of swan lake

Winding it over and over again

Until eventually

It broke.

Then at 3

The first time you put on your

Brand new

Ballet slippers

You found the very thing that you

Would love,

For years to come.

It would follow you

From the room

Where you learned to dance

To the stage

To other schools in different cities

To your dreams at night

Where your feet would still move as if they were dancing.

It has been a relationship of love and pain

Passion and perfectionism

Beauty and destruction.

You tried to dance through your injuries

Maybe if you pretended you were okay

You would forget the pain.

But the most catastrophic injury you had

Would not let you forget it existed.

It crept into your spine

With an ugly rage

That ravaged you of your ability to dance.

And broke your spirit.

I put away years of tutus

And those worn out pointe shoes

That you loved so much

Because the tears in the once smooth satin

Showed how hard you worked.

I hope that when you do look back

One day

You will think of it as a part of your life that didn’t leave you behind

But a part of you

You have kept alive

Through other things sacred

Creative

Self-affirming

healing.

By J..Hamilton

A version of you