What Remains?

Dear friends,

These past few months have been one of the most difficult seasons of my life. The storms my children and I have weathered were interwoven with moments of refuge and unexpected blessings. Still, the effects have been life-altering.

I’m continuing to grieve (even with my attempts to rush it), and I’m slowly getting accustomed to a rearranged landscape. Thanks to the companionship of a small group of generous, heart-centered writers, I’ve been able to gather a few thoughts.

In an effort to rejoin the rhythm of ordinary life, I’m sharing a short piece. I’m not certain what ordinary even means in these tumultuous, confusing and terrifying times. Despite this, I’m dragging myself back to the altar of what I know to be good and true— and trying to find inspiration there.

Thank you for reading.

With love, Eloiza

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I grew up gazing at Oceans and Rivers.
Moments of respite, connection. 
Freedom in the midst of clouds and conflict.

Who would I be if I had not had this privilege? 
Summer visits to the Jersey shore. 
My young body tumbling in the waves. 
Salty lips, frizzy hair, cinnamon skin.

Who would I be if I had not known 
the raucous quiet of Pine Forests? 
The Catskill Mountains still appear to me in dreams. 

I remember the Ten Mile River.
How it meandered down 
until it reached the majestic Delaware.
(We delighted in the creek’s frigid water 
and marveled at how it joined the warmer expanse.)

Today, I’m a peninsula 
slowly turning into an island. 
Not adrift, just alone.

I went seeking answers.
To understand life‘s most profound betrayals. 
The healer said, with surgeon-like precision, 
“Your mother sees your suffering, she’s just not moved by it.”
This changed everything.

Falling in love with the wrong person
is no longer a concern. 
Even my desires have packed up
and walked away from me.

My old life dropped to the ground, shattered. 
I stand staring at the pieces.
Unsure how I will gather myself back together.

I wash the floors on hands and knees like my grandmother used to. 
An effort to scrub away the grief.
It worked, if only for a few hours.

I haven’t danced in months. 
The gods of music and drum, 
the ones I used to worship so fervently.
Silent, waiting for my return.