The Arms of the Tree

 

I want the arms of this tree

To hold me so tight that it stops my breathing and my brain and heart slows for a second.

To hold me so tight that even if I fight to go, it just won’t let me and it tells me to stay.

To hold me so tight that it renews my breathing with new oxygen it produces. 

To hold me so tight that, eventually, I just rest there, still… waiting for the apple to fall on my head in a late summer night. And the skies and the weather change around me. And I’m still there, and the tree is still there. 

I want the light of this moon, to be like the light in your eyes when you look at me. 

Not necessarily as bright as the stars, but at least the reflection of my own light and proximity to you. 

I want to feel the multiple branches embracing my fears in the stillness of the night… so my body finally feels safe. 

By Margarida Ventura 

Grief

Today my baby would have been walking; wobbling with confidence across the room. 

They would be talking some words and simple phrases filled with meaning and mistakes, given their raw interpretation of the world. Like a poet, trying to make sense of life with words…

I would be laughing and cherishing them with all my heart.

Instead… I make shapes of hearts with my hands, where your short life was…

I hold my belly with the same gentle care I held you. 

I cuddle my body that failed me, the same body I have learned to love again. The body I dance with, creating beautiful shapes in the air… The body that runs and skates around to try to find joy in life. 

Today I’ve cried, but I know I will also laugh.