Hiraeth (A love letter to the tides)
by Emily Fletcher
Yesterday
Oh, your simple smile,
fingers locking in mine,
light brushes against my shoulder.
We stroll down the path together,
the same one we’ve treaded for years
and years and years and
The walls are yearning for color,
the floors aching for our waltzing steps,
I open the door of our bedroom where
you wait for me, dimply smile wide.
Your unsaid thoughts whisper in my ear,
my heart beats against yours.
I slowly twirl you around as snow collects
and swirls around us. Your eyes never leave mine
The sun shines on our embrace
as you tease me and massage sunscreen
onto my skin, kissing me gently.
Today
Eyes avoid my gaze,
a figure brushes past,
sweet misery collects on my cheek
in scattered collections of grief.
Your smile floods the room in
light as you brush past my shoulder,
locking your fingers in mine for the briefest
second, eternity
This house is not the same.
No, the walls ache of decrepit
pitfalls and gaps left unfilled.
The floor is untrodden by joy, the
doors left frail by abuse. You painted the room
with me last night,
The color is drained into artifice,
laughter has no use amongst
this building.
you promised I looked
flattering with stains planted on my cheek
as you burst into laughter
My eyes seek color, yearn for
their original utility. My heart
finds its lover, reaches out, you smile back,
returns indented by the
fragment soul your dimples contain
all of my life it once attended to at cost of life.
The sun seeks the shadows,
curtains are perpetually drawn
in response. Remember when you
first looked at me, sheltered away in your own
thoughts… This shelter’s fortress
mocks vulnerability, sneers
at justice, craves solitude. Your
footsteps are the warzone, you walked
toward my embrace my
words wounded at once. and we
were sheltered together
Forever
The walls I’ve brushed past
for years and years and years and
smile in sympathy.
The corners of my mouth move upward,
slowly, hesitantly,
as I peel the paint,
bending down to reapply the whitewashed splatter.
With each movement, a bit of
warmth slips into my consciousness,
my breath steadied,
rays peeking in as the
color drains away.
The polished wood creaks gently, quietly as I continue
my labor.
As the tint of the room brightens,
shadows splay around the framework.
I lower myself to the ground, and I close my eyes,
and specks of sun pierce the cover of my lids,
and I remember.
Light blues fly across the room as I
quickly duck, bent over,
joy bubbling to the surface.
When the running and yelping finally end,
we sit together on the polished wood, your head
fitting underneath mine. As the sun lowers,
my breath slows
You know I don’t like this color, I politely mock
your choice of palette as I sigh in defeat,
it never suited me.
I slowly rise from
the ground,
step back,
admire the handiwork,
then walk out the door.