And She Was Gone

A poem to you, a poem I dreamt, a poem you made true.

1. Glistening skin, sweet, lovely hearts tattooed to shoulders and emblazed with our love story, and etched into body/bodies, heart, hearts, the world is covered in gold dust, let us get lost in this love rush, gush, glimmering and swimming through a river of a destination that only we know of, only we can seek, only we can find.

2. You’re the kind of sunshine I long for, fantasize on my lips and skin, tuck into my every heartbeat. I waited for centuries for this moment to arrive, like a man of a dessert searching for a water spout and finding a mirage I run to you in rags and hope you can turn me whole again.

3. Who knew it you’d hurt like this, so bitter and so sweet, something I would like to meet, loved to meet, loved and met, loved and parted. Oh sweet mirage, how fast you disappear. Oh, kind destination, how we drown before we meet.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Nancy-Reyes

Dear TouchtheSun

I met my husband when he was homeless in Los Angeles living in the brush by the river. 

number 1 and number 2 reflect our story.

I feel like he and I were "waited for centuries for this moment to arrive". He ran to me in rags on his outside; I ran to him with rags on my inside; he says I made him whole again. Gave him back his dignity. He did the same for me even though I had material wealth and home comforts. 

I was a lawyer and he was an addict recovering from years of heroin abuse; 15 years homeless. I believe, in my opinion, there are millions of good people who are lost in the concrete jungle, lost in the cracks of the dirt in rural lands struggling with heroic resilience. Children, parents, veterans, working, single people, married people, sick and injured people, all deserving of a standard of living they will never experience. While millions of people who never worked a day in her or his life will rant in judgment of the poor, legislate policies to punish rather than uplift (even if those policies are more expensive), as if somehow they deserve the randomness of their destiny.

I wish I had a way to take your pain and put it into the air. I wanted you to know, for what ever it's worth that your words moved me to ache. 

It sux that all I can do is write these words to you. I wish the voters, politicians and corporatocracy of our country were willing to do more to end this sickness and shame we have heaped on your back and those in your situation. You DON'T deserve this burden. For what it's worth, I am deeply apologetic that we have no collective will to end this madness. 

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741