Stain-glass Eyes

Silence grips the whole of me. Not like a vice, But like a hand. It gently reaches out to stop my anxiety descent. Water encases me. Not like ice on a river, But with fingers of silk. It folds over my skin, To keep my sanity afloat. Silence hugs me down. It doesn’t pin me, But sets me on my back.   My chest becomes a dance floor As hundreds of tiny sprites Ignite my heart with their steps. Love captivates me. It doesn’t suck me through a straw And swallow me alive. Like a hammock it surrounds my heart. And swings back and forth, Back and forth… Its rhythm lulls me to smile. Silence centers me. Not like a soldier ready to salute me, But like a wee bird, It slowly chips away from inside my fragile shell. And gives me fearless possibility.

I’ve written about the loss of my husband, Harry, in this blogpost. The rippling effect it has caused over the years.   I also kept a journal to express myself. I knew family and friends were tired of hearing about what I was going through.   (No, they never said, but I knew after awhile they wanted me to move on) This is the first time I’ve been published, though. I admit it’s pretty exciting for me.   I flew to New York City to attend the book publishing party for Widow’s Words , this last weekend.   My essay, “Becoming Maggie” explains some of the coping-ripples I went through after Harry’s death. Elizabeth Posted this on Instagram My daughter Elizabeth, (who lives in Brooklyn), went with me to the publishing party. She’s the one who encouraged me to submit my writing. She’s always believed in my ability to give voice to what happens in my life. When the two of us walked up to the apartment building (for the party), we had spent the day togeth