The thing is…
Blue Sky Black Sheep Prompt
The Thing Is
by Ellen Bass
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
The thing is, I want to love it here. Want to let the loose afternoon sunshine soak in me like the butter I overdosed my chanterelles with this evening. Want to simmer in that sunlight till I’m half floating through each day. Or at least some days. But sunshine feels hard to come by here most days.
I suppose, I do kinda like it here. Those small, sweet moments of in-between fill me up. Laying my head on his chest, our puppy’s nose tucked into my elbow, feeling the soft green Swiss grass grow beneath me. Hearing the slow lap of the lake tickling the shore’s edge.
And yet grief, this hearty homesickness. I breathe it in nightly, my tsunami dreams a repetitive swimming lesson I’d rather not take. An unceasing manifestation of overwhelm. Of fear.
Funny enough, I suppose, that of all the places, this one has the “violet eyes” of a charmer. How can I be complaining, really, about struggling to love a place with alpine vistas and a crystal clear, tourist-destination lake just an hour train ride down the mountain? I mean, that view out my window can’t be summed up in words. The hiking trails out my front door make me -- objectively -- the luckiest girl in the world. Fresh croissants every Thursday? Jackpot!
I can see them: any photo snapshot of this place would catch countless charming smiles. But I’m struggling to see that smile shift from my lips and slip into my body. My toes haven’t smiled in weeks. My fingers ache to hold my loved ones. My belly aches for mom’s food. My feet ache for the road home.
Homesickness is a heavy weight.
Love from Leysin,
sbmc
