TRANSITIONS 

Trista McGovern
2023
                                                 

A night of feeling the tar in my mind and my steel threaded tendons; that morning of lilacs by coffee and a poem of care.

A marker of warmth we try to keep, knowing beaches and sprinklers cannot compare to the  first real relief of dark days. It’s worth so instinctively agreed upon that we make an oath to never forget.

We drink to introduce it to our organs and swallow softness. We drive to find every version of fragrant levity it gives. We ink its portrait as an homage. We transcribe its aura onto momentary pixels and preserve it between pages. We lean into lavender tones of mindfulness. We welcome it as a backdrop to our kisses.

A link through history of homes
and notches on our timeline of trust —

Between transient times, weary whys, smoke singed air, flames of ignorance, tender hearts and tension, gardens of grieving - we surrounded us in whispers of sweetness.

Every year they, You, pull me out of bed
and out the door to remind me of the worthwhile//fleeting//better days ahead

The lilacs won’t last —
but the memory of them, and you,
smelling like hope remains.
I swallow fish oil and sunlight
organs rearrange to make room somehow
like we do
less space for deep breaths
but more for all these temples of forgiveness

to forgive
like we make life
without thinking
our way to it
but just multiplying
forgiveness times time
despite and because
if we did not who would we become

even if we start small
as in I forgive me
it would be like when we see
a heart inside of us beating
the size of a pea