hello hello, sweet friend of mine,
I’m so happy to see you. it’s been a while since we’ve checked in, just you and I, with no other destination for a larger topic or story to follow. how has your day been? what’s on your mind?
I wanted to thank you, by the way, (I’m sorry I’m just getting to it now) for reading these little letters set adrift in the wind. it’s immensely humbling to see how far they travel and I’m excited to have new friends to wave to from the horizon. I also want to thank you for your patience. I’ve been working on finishing up the final draft of what will be my new book—giving older poems a firmer voice, letting new ideas seep until they’re ready to drink; covering a wall in my apartment with pages, trying to organize where each poem should live. it’s been comprehensive, emotional, terrifying, and indescribably thrilling. this project feels like one of the most important things I’ve worked on, so while I’m hoping it turns out just right, I also want to give it room to breathe. in any case, it’s been helpful to slow down the pace of these letters when I’ve needed to, and in this last bit of sprint, I’ll drift in and out again, but just wanted you to know that’s what I’ll be up to. I’ll be back. :)
in the meantime, what’s come to mind in this writing process and subsequent healing is the reminder it doesn’t have to be beautiful. and maybe beautiful here is a word which means palatable, or quiet, or soft; the healing that moves along without missing a step in its skincare routine. because, assuredly, it is not. there is a fresh sense of wild in welcoming a whole drenched face, letting your nose drip without immediately running to wipe the emotion away. to allow yourself, even if it feels silly in retrospect, to stomp and holler and shake until the fire lulls. and the growth that follows does not always feel graceful, but clumsy and hesitant. I think of how a cut will scab over and burns will weep until they’re dry. it doesn’t have to be beautiful. I know this clunky, long-winded process will ease the more I come back to understand it.
I wrote this poem a few years ago – actually, as I tracked it back down again, I realize I finished it four years ago exactly to the day (remarkable how life does that, wow). whenever I think about this poem, I always want to include that of course there is gentleness in loving yourself back to health. of course, there will at times be the bubble baths and pizza deliveries. it’s absolutely crucial to do those sweet things for yourself, but I think we have a tendency to polish over the grit; the messy parts of putting ourselves back together. I want to grow to list the changes I’m making by name, honor the time it takes to get where I’m going, and then celebrate the bravery in every step. at least, that’s what I’m working towards.
poem (text):
as always, I’m holding you close.
with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck