sometimes you forget, but when you remember, you must return

february 11, 2025

i’ve cried multiple times writing this one, the remembering, the grieving what once was and what i hoped would be, the soft and gentle rally cry for me to return again and again to the thing that gives me purpose and love and joy. it has not been easy to accept and act on what i know to be true in my heart. that i am writer and above all i must write, it is not easy. but i have the earnest pleasure in knowing, that no matter what, i will persist.

i was eight, maybe nine when i wrote my first poem. i had just discovered that my mom used to write poetry and my picking up the pen was an attempt to connect with her on something. i wish i had a copy of it but i remember on my tenth birthday on April 10 writing a poem that went a little like this:

today i am 10

and it will be the only

time that i am 10

on April 10

how cool it is

to be 10 on April 10

i remember being hypercritical and while i was proud of this very first poem i wrote i was also upset i couldn’t get it to rhyme and be “perfect.” my mom made poetry look easy. both creating it and reciting it. in fact it felt easy to me too until i sat down to actually write. but she would recite poetry to me, cute poems like:

i had a little tea party

in the afternoon at three

t’was very small

three guests in all

i, myself, and me

myself made up the sandwiches

while i made up the tea

t’was also i

who ate the pie

and passed the cake to me

she’d recite it and wink at me sweetly and i was completely mesmerized. she’d sing this old song:

once i was single

dressed so fine

but now i's is married

go ragged all the time

wish i was a single girl again…

and that felt like poetry too. heartfelt poetry, vulnerable and bittersweet.

for years after that first poem written on my tenth birthday i only wrote poetry, in fact, it’s only been in the most recent five years that i’ve explored writing prose and essays.

i had a spoken word era, i would attend open mic nights and talent shows and perform my poetry. every christmas break, my best friend from high school and i would go to ‘busboys and poets’ in maryland and i would sign up to perform. it was a beautiful thing to share, with the room full of like minded people and with her. once i got to college the open mic scene in lincoln, ne was…well, lacking and so i took to hiding again and writing by myself until i met a fellow kindred spirit on tumblr of all places. it took us both i think a while to warm up to each other enough to share our poetry but when we did? it was magic. it felt like recognizing yourself in a mirror or in an old picture.

it was my first year of teaching and the students were in the middle of independent work during reading rotations and i sent him a text saying something along the lines of “i’ve got the start of a new one…” and sent him this:

more of me

more of you

more of us,

together

doing things that have weight

and that tugs on the soul

and he responded with…

a glimpse of you was just a bait

combined as a whole

the pain of having more of you

alleviates the ache of you having less of me

torment from loneliness far exceeds that of love

separated, I deteriorate and starvation takes hold

we’d been writing poetry together for a year before we wrote that, but when i tell the story, it was this poem i think, that really solidified what we could do together. we were more than excited we were electric. the companionship in this art form is how i imagine cynthia erivo and ariana grande felt singing together for the first time. when you meet someone whose voice, mind, soul, and heart match yours in just the right way…it is the thing of stars.

so we started writing. for almost ten years he and i wrote. he lived in florida, i lived in maryland and with the power of facetime and google docs we would rush home after work on fridays, coordinate dinner and drinks, settle in, and commence. sometimes i remember those days and nights writing with him and it feels like a dream, feels like another life. we were devoted in every way. devoted to our friendship, to our individual writing and our writing together. and then as all things do, it came to an end. life happened and we stopped writing and ever since i think i’ve been exploring, remembering, and in some ways grieving what it looks like to write without him.

but the truth of it is, that before poetry was ours to share with each other, it was mine. i’ve been writing poetry since i was nine, poetry has always belonged to me and i’ve always belonged to it. and in this becoming and unfolding, in this rebuilding my life and creating something new, i want to remember that and in this remembering i want to return. to the art form that kept me up, kept me awake, kept me alive.

i’ve missed poetry, i’ve missed who i am when i’m writing poetry. and in this beginning again, in starting my life over and creating something new, i want poetry to be here with me in the beginning.

with his permission i’m sharing that poem that changed everything for us here, to christen my new beginning. a blessing and a farewell.

__________________________________________________________________________________

heavy.

more of me

more of you

more of us,

together

doing things that have weight

and that tugs on the soul

a glimpse of you was just a bait

combined as a whole

the pain of having more of you

alleviates the ache of you having less of me

torment from loneliness far exceeds that of love

separated, i deteriorate and starvation takes hold

a legend

a story brought from whispers

yet rejecting a transformation to my reality

to fill my quench of you, was never destined

a request is mine.

fill in the pieces.

together, we are no longer see through.

more of you

more of me

more of us,

together.

your harmonic laugh bathes me in euphoria

side by side our pace in sync,

a fabrication.

this a folklore,

i am your pariah.

to be your soft drink,

aught a compulsion.

to be an invitation

to be a possibility neither had considered

a hail mary for an ending that of a little girl’s dream.

less of me

less of you

less of us,

together.

with a gaze,

a notification of something vacant

such conflicting haze a void you implicated

you and i ever so clear

there was, but was not a we

a bumbling romance far then near

thus no more you, with me.

a distinction you notified the masses about

a seed of a question to be left in my mind

did the sun

ever rise on the cobwebs in my soul.

or was it merely a flashlight?

m.