When mistakes are made in a relationship, it is easy to compound them. Especially big mistakes. I have made my share of them, as many have through the years.
I have always been impressed by people who seem to find a way to work through even the toughest circumstance, overcome the greatest betrayals, and find a way to make a relationship work. I admire them, but I don’t know whether I could be that great a person.
Today’s poem was an experiment in working through the pain and some of the consequences of mistakes that can last a lifetime. I dedicate it to those who have found a way to stay, live through the day, and enjoy their responsibility for guiding the apples that come from The Orchard.
I can count.
Going back thirty-eight weeks
put us in the middle of winter—
when you were cold and distant.
I don’t need you to tell me now.
You really held no secrets.
I knew of your disappearing
for hours into the trees.
Your lies were just a clouding mist,
allowing me to
believe what I wanted to,
see what I wanted to see.
Now,
your guilt seeks outlet,
your tears seek
furtive soil within me
because he is gone—
playing Johnny Appleseed
in someone else’s orchard.
You know how much
I wished, no,
prayed to be a father.
We talked often of how
our baby would
have your eyes,
my nose,
your ears,
my toes.
Your belly has become ripe
with the fruit of your sin,
just waiting for someone
to reach up,
twisting her free from the stem—
the apple from your branch—
red and delicious.
I mull the pain—
your betrayal
and the baby
with your eyes,
his nose,
your ears,
his toes.
A large part of me
is walking away,
is hoping the harvest
is at least as painful
as these wounds have been.
What is left
somehow keeps standing here,
brushing away those tears,
holding tight to your hand,
hoping the apple falls far
from his tree.
_______________
An earlier version of this piece was published in the Tipton Poetry Journal #3.
| Copyright © 2021 by Maik Strosahl Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there. |
Your project to work though pain poetically – especially pain as deep and sharp as the pain involved in such betrayals as this – is daring. Is it even possible? I mean, possible as a psychological accomplishment, as an imaginative what-if? Can not only an accomplished poem but also an emotional healing be achieved? Must we interview you to find out whether your experiment worked?
ReplyDeleteThis poem is really good! And touching! I read it to my husband, and he too was impressed.
ReplyDeleteMoris—I view most of my pieces as experiments. Some connect and some miss their mark, even after much incubation and editing. This one seems to have connected with more than a few readers. I consider this one a success.
ReplyDeleteAs far as whether working through extreme emotional trauma with poetry works or not, I feel it has helped me through several events. Sometimes, you create a character to distance the work from being immediately discovered as your real life, then write your way out. Others, maybe a small portion is the part of a poem that is my life and the rest is built through a sort of therapy. In the end, some are kept for private diaries, others are deemed safe enough to launch upon the world—hopefully to help others to find a way through as we have.
Thank you, Maik, for your testimonial that, yes, working on a poem has sometimes helped you therapeutically through traumatic times. Our interchange has led me to realize that I myself have used acts of recording (as diary entries or monitoring notes) my thoughts and feelings and behaviors pertinent to whatever life issue is troubling me to work through (and survive) those issues. I suppose one could argue that a number, if not most, of my Goines vignettes have been vehicles for working through such issues as
Delete* loss of connections with old friends,
* memory degradation,
* bodily decline,
* saddening reminders of mortality….
THANK YOU for this unanticipated insight!
That very insight into normally private thoughts, though approached with humor even when motivated by other emotions, is exactly what draws me in to your Goines series.
DeleteThank you Karen! I am glad you both enjoyed it!
ReplyDeleteThe pain is the REASON I write. To deal with lifelong conflicts over my mother's family and their racism. I barely knew Dad's family, another sore point. The death of a person or pet or 2 dead boys I couldn't save in a swimming pool one street over. Having to put down a poor dog who loved me but eventually began attacking anyone else, including my wife. These things are HARD. They harm us, damage us, and frankly this bullshit about what doesn't kill you makes you stronger is stupid. Think your leg is stronger after it's broken or before? We HAVE to deal with these hurts and trying to ignore them is like ignoring a deep infection, it WILL bite you in the ass eventually. I absolutely agree that writing is cathartic, personal therapy that only some can do. For me, getting my thoughts in order lets me stand back and analyze my FEELINGS about these thoughts and memories,these experiences, and somehow doing that helps me begin to let go of the pain. Knowing you write from personal experience (as do I) only confirms my opinion.
ReplyDeleteI hope others will join us in commenting on whether (and how) they use writing to work through difficult personal experiences. Who’s going to go next?
ReplyDelete