How Still the Strings

 

Sits the guitar upon its stand

awaiting player's gentle hand

to strum the chords and coax the songs

knowing well how it responds.

In silence now, how still the strings,

and yet, your words are echoing...

no one who’s loved is ever gone

in each of us, their song lives on.

 

We weren’t that close, you and I.

Not really, not in the scheme of things.

Though we knew each other all our lives,

you were always someone who

skated on the outskirts of my existence:

small town, same schools, mutual friends.

Eventually we both moved away

moving onward and outward to live life.

We would bump into each other

on those occasions when we were called back

to relive our high school memories;

or in those moments of mutual celebration or loss.

I never told you how much your kind words meant

during my own loss; how they felt like a warm arm 

around my shoulder; a gentle reminder 

that even in distance we are not alone.

No, we really weren’t that close, 

but in a sense you’ve always been there

somewhere on the edge, on the periphery.

Two kids who shared a certain kinship...

 

and I am better for the knowing of you.

© Ginny (Karpinski) Brannan 2024

Godspeed, my friend...

Limbo

Lost in this space in-between…

inert and adrift in illusion

mind numb, bereft of emotion––

beleaguered with dreams best forgotten

opining the wish for redemption.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Broken Places

 

A tangible intangible, grief…

a culmination of so many emotions–

pain, anger, sadness, relief;

all things we cannot see, but sure as hell feel.

It’s a process of coming to terms

with a loss unexpected, out of the blue;

or perhaps through a course

of days, months, or years, where 

all of our tears are spent, not in a singular event,  

but on the road that brought us here.

We are the summation of all that we do,

 and a product of all who touch our lives.

Our superpower comes from within us,

and our fortitude from the diversity that we face.

The skin of our scars is tough for a reason:

for we are ever stronger in all the ‘broken’ places.

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art. Every break is unique and instead of repairing an item like new, the 400-year-old technique actually highlights the "scars" as a part of the design. Using this as a metaphor for healing ourselves teaches us an important lesson: Sometimes in the process of repairing things that have broken, we actually create something more unique, beautiful and resilient.

                                                                   ~Candace Kumai

...But Are You, Really?

I wonder how well you think you know me.

You ask how I’ve been, and I answer truthfully.

And then comes the look,

the one that says “Are you? Are you, really?”

I’ve known those who fell into a bottomless abyss,

lost in the deep spaces, the dark places.

I’ve seen others choose to view the world

through the bottom of a bottle.

And those who carry their grief like a chip 

on their shoulder, weighted down, bitter, 

blaming others for what they couldn't fix.

I am not that person;

I have known light, 

and I have known love.

I have watched fortitude and determination

bring someone back. Not once, not twice,

but again, and again, and again.

And I made a promise that I, too, would 

never give up, never surrender.

In this I find my peace.

So if you expect a different answer,

then don’t ask.

I am okay.

 Really.

© Ginny Brannan 2021

No Good Answers

 

You ask me “How are you doing?”

How am I supposed to answer?

What do you expect me to say?

My standard is “Better this week than last.”

At least I didn’t cry my way home from work 

each day, or fall apart at the end of the week.

I sigh a lot these days…

The sunshine and spring blooms

are almost too much to bear.

I am no stranger to hardship,

but this? It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

You tell me ”It’ll get better with time.”

Crawl inside my skin and convince me.

Carry the weight in your chest, the knot in your stomach

the catch in your throat,  the hole in your heart…

till then, don’t ask me how I am doing

    unless you’ve felt the same.

© GB 2021