In between the Zoom call and the phone call, in between emptying the dishwasher and filling it up, in between dripping fingers and puddled floor, in between the voice that squeaks “what’s for dinner” and the voice that groans at my response, in between the too tall grass and gassing the car, in between the pile of mail and pile of papers from three separate schools, in between their growing bodies and three sets of needs, in between saying to the one “time for a bath” and gagging to the two “put on deodorant,” in between buying packs of polar ice gum because bribery works wonders for hygiene, in between lining the cart with gallons of milk and lining their plates with rainbows of food, in between worrying at the rising price of groceries and eyeing the slimming figures of accounts, in between words— I am caught unaware, surprised by a sudden in-breath of space. And I am left there, wondering— what is in-between, and what is the substance of our days?
I found out this week that my uncle has pancreatic cancer. He is awaiting treatment options but is also sleeping about 20 hours a day, meaning there's no real possibility of visiting. I'm not taking it well.
I can feel the ache between every word of this poem, A. I'm so sorry to hear about your uncle - the uncertainty, his illness, the loss of his presence, the in-between, and the hard knowing tucked into all the unknowing. I'm sending love your way, and his too.
A, I'm sorry to know of this loss-in-progress. Thank you for sharing your grief in such a beautiful way here. Wishing you and your family, including your uncle, peace and comfort.
I am so sorry to learn of your uncle’s diagnosis, A. Pancreatic cancer has scourged our family, and as with any cancer, the road is hard. Thinking of you, friend, and grateful that you have the spirit to find powerful words in a shadow time. 🙏🏻
There's something strangely magical about first seeing a being through its shadow! I was sitting by a creek a few weeks ago, watching dark little fish dart about, when suddenly I realized I wasn't watching them at all--that what I was watching was their shadows. The fish themselves were pale brown and barely visible.
Interesting. Yet, even though only shadows we can still infer so much information. However, must always be aware of Plato's Allegory of the Cave. We can never infer with certitude.
I love the way your poem so vividly conveys a sense of breath-held urgency, then breaks at the inhale into a field of space and curiosity. When I pondered the concept of "between" I thought about how I'm seeing more and more the way in which unacknowledged, unprocessed grief stands between surviving and thriving.
Oh my goodness, you are such a wordsmith, Keith! "No overpass, no underpass, no bypass" . . . "to ascend, you must / dive deep and / to advance, you must / retreat." You manage to be both so punchy and so profound. I know I've said some version of this a bazillion times, but when you take up the mantel of Spoken Word Poet, I will drive up to New England to be part of the standing ovation!
Oooh this is incredible, Keith. The last 6 lines in particular (beginning with "paved with paradox" -- brilliant!) grabbed me and asked to be re-read several times over.
I do recall your level of activity, hectic pace, incessant problem solving. I have slept at stoplights, woken up by horns. What was the substance of those days? Overarchingly, the love of our sons painted all those days. I could not even conceive of what retirement meant. I enjoyed this, not least because of your competence as a writer, never to be underestimated. Here's one about having time.
What a beautiful way of expressing that - days painted with love. My boys are growing up so quickly. Right now, there is paint (and chaos) everywhere - and some day I know I will miss that.
Your poem is lovely, Weston! I felt myself right there in that cafe, eternity stretching all around me and a dog at my feet.
Thank you, Margaret Ann! I'm sure you could come up with a doubly impressive rush, given that you have twice as many children as I do! (Six, right? Or am I making that up?)
No, you’re right—six. I feel like I mention the number a lot 😁. Honestly, though, once the first kid comes along, life gets a billion times more complicated.
I loved reading your poem Lisa, and like Weston Parker's comment below, I know there is a lessening of the looking after children (my 3 are late teens and one is 22). My stage or phase of life is feeling guilty that I don't do enough for my kids and I leave them to it. Also ageing parents! All my friends have ageing parents and some who've passed away. This is life I suppose, and the gaps between are for rest and reflections. Much love xx
Kath!!!!! Seeing your name here put a big smile on my face. Thank you for your comment. I have so many friends who are currently doing some degree of caretaking for their parents, and I'm beginning to get a picture of just how all-consuming and heart-rending that can be. As you say, "this is life I suppose" . . . but all the same, I'm wishing you (and the generations on either side of you) the best of what's possible.
This is wild and wonderful, Rebekah! The ending is superb, “I have not yet devised a way/to stuff the unseen.” And truly love the notion of filling up space and the “onions curing”! What a delightful and evocative image. You are truly a poet of the earth and the elements, Rebekah!
This is remarkable and brilliant, Lisa! I love the way you bring the moments of every day life into clear focus, and draw me in to those countless tasks, duties and missions of a mom. The cadence and rhythm of your “in between” statements are so magical and compelling, and so creative and clear. And the whole poem is so relatable: the truth of bribery as a means to good hygiene is splendid, and I imagine that every caregiver of children and youth has been at least tempted by that ageless device.
I have been sick all week and not been able to keep up with much of anything, but I am circling through! Thank you for being out there and here!
If I could stand
between two trees
and feel the slightest
autumn breeze
Ooooh this is so delightful! It swept me up and left me deliciously dangling, considering all of the possibilities that might follow your "if."
Thank you, so many possibilities 💙
So sweet and powerful in four magic lines! Thank you Tanya!
I found out this week that my uncle has pancreatic cancer. He is awaiting treatment options but is also sleeping about 20 hours a day, meaning there's no real possibility of visiting. I'm not taking it well.
.
He is here but he is not
here, not really.
Here requires presence,
and his is elsewhere, at present, maybe
dreaming. Hopefully of beautiful things.
We are still waiting, to hear about The Plan.
But I know this space, this in-between,
and I am already grieving,
I'm just doing it more quietly.
I can feel the ache between every word of this poem, A. I'm so sorry to hear about your uncle - the uncertainty, his illness, the loss of his presence, the in-between, and the hard knowing tucked into all the unknowing. I'm sending love your way, and his too.
Thank you, Lisa 🧡
A, I'm sorry to know of this loss-in-progress. Thank you for sharing your grief in such a beautiful way here. Wishing you and your family, including your uncle, peace and comfort.
Thank you, Keith 🧡
I’m so sorry. Sending lots of love and care ❤️🩹
Thank you🧡
I'm so sorry, A. I do hope you'll get some special time with your uncle soon. Sending you love.
Thank you, Rebekah 🧡
I am so sorry to learn of your uncle’s diagnosis, A. Pancreatic cancer has scourged our family, and as with any cancer, the road is hard. Thinking of you, friend, and grateful that you have the spirit to find powerful words in a shadow time. 🙏🏻
Thank you, Larry 🧡
In between the light and the dark
Is the liminal space of shadow
On my walk I see a fluttering shadow
Alerting me to the butterfly
Floating above my head
In the heat of day or disagreement
Lies the respite from heat or anger
Blocking light or invective
As the consciousness of existence
Rests between two infinities
There's something strangely magical about first seeing a being through its shadow! I was sitting by a creek a few weeks ago, watching dark little fish dart about, when suddenly I realized I wasn't watching them at all--that what I was watching was their shadows. The fish themselves were pale brown and barely visible.
Interesting. Yet, even though only shadows we can still infer so much information. However, must always be aware of Plato's Allegory of the Cave. We can never infer with certitude.
Haha so true! I hadn't paused to compare myself to the prisoners.
If not in touch with our imagination, we are all prisoners. 🥲♐️♐️♊️
I love the way your poem so vividly conveys a sense of breath-held urgency, then breaks at the inhale into a field of space and curiosity. When I pondered the concept of "between" I thought about how I'm seeing more and more the way in which unacknowledged, unprocessed grief stands between surviving and thriving.
***
Between what is and
what you wish had been
stretches a gap, vast and void
but for the echoes of grief
that ricochet
off your granite heart.
And between the flats
where you trudge and
the heights you wish to climb
lies a border fence,
barbed and razored
with that same keening grief.
There is no overpass,
no underpass, no bypass.
It is, as it seems,
an impasse.
Yet there is a way
to travel, the way
JC, MLK and all those who navigated
by the cosmic compass.
This way is simple but
not easy. It prioritizes
softness over stamina and
is paved with paradox.
This is its cartography:
to ascend, you must
dive deep and
to advance, you must
retreat.
Oh my goodness, you are such a wordsmith, Keith! "No overpass, no underpass, no bypass" . . . "to ascend, you must / dive deep and / to advance, you must / retreat." You manage to be both so punchy and so profound. I know I've said some version of this a bazillion times, but when you take up the mantel of Spoken Word Poet, I will drive up to New England to be part of the standing ovation!
Thank you, friend! My inner spoken word poet is thrilling at your enthusiasm! Stay tuned on an eventual weak-kneed approach to the mic ☺️
I 100%agree with Lisa, Keith!!!!
Oooh this is incredible, Keith. The last 6 lines in particular (beginning with "paved with paradox" -- brilliant!) grabbed me and asked to be re-read several times over.
Needing this right now. Thank you, Keith.
I do recall your level of activity, hectic pace, incessant problem solving. I have slept at stoplights, woken up by horns. What was the substance of those days? Overarchingly, the love of our sons painted all those days. I could not even conceive of what retirement meant. I enjoyed this, not least because of your competence as a writer, never to be underestimated. Here's one about having time.
https://westonpparker.substack.com/p/time-to-kill
What a beautiful way of expressing that - days painted with love. My boys are growing up so quickly. Right now, there is paint (and chaos) everywhere - and some day I know I will miss that.
Your poem is lovely, Weston! I felt myself right there in that cafe, eternity stretching all around me and a dog at my feet.
The space between endless tasks, the meal time negotiations, the gum! This was all so relatable 💞
I'm so glad . . . and also hope you find space to rest within your own endless tasking!
Lovely poem--the rush of in betweens, and then the slow down. The list of prompts is super intriguing, too.
Thank you, Margaret Ann! I'm sure you could come up with a doubly impressive rush, given that you have twice as many children as I do! (Six, right? Or am I making that up?)
No, you’re right—six. I feel like I mention the number a lot 😁. Honestly, though, once the first kid comes along, life gets a billion times more complicated.
I loved reading your poem Lisa, and like Weston Parker's comment below, I know there is a lessening of the looking after children (my 3 are late teens and one is 22). My stage or phase of life is feeling guilty that I don't do enough for my kids and I leave them to it. Also ageing parents! All my friends have ageing parents and some who've passed away. This is life I suppose, and the gaps between are for rest and reflections. Much love xx
Kath!!!!! Seeing your name here put a big smile on my face. Thank you for your comment. I have so many friends who are currently doing some degree of caretaking for their parents, and I'm beginning to get a picture of just how all-consuming and heart-rending that can be. As you say, "this is life I suppose" . . . but all the same, I'm wishing you (and the generations on either side of you) the best of what's possible.
Lisa, I must be brief but just know that I deeply love and deeply see myself in your poem. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Mike! We parent poets have to hang together. ❤️
Let's call this "If Not Tiny, My House is at Least Very Small."
.
Where there is space, I plug it
with books and appliances,
surplus paper products, bulk snacks,
shoes, art supplies, kindling,
dog beds, actual dogs, donation piles.
There are seven boxes of onions curing
at the foot of my bed, like family gathered
for my last breaths, only who could breathe
through all the offgassing?
.
I am grateful for air, for my home’s
generous third dimension,
for the limits to my own invasiveness.
I have not yet devised a way to
stuff the unseen.
This is wild and wonderful, Rebekah! The ending is superb, “I have not yet devised a way/to stuff the unseen.” And truly love the notion of filling up space and the “onions curing”! What a delightful and evocative image. You are truly a poet of the earth and the elements, Rebekah!
This is remarkable and brilliant, Lisa! I love the way you bring the moments of every day life into clear focus, and draw me in to those countless tasks, duties and missions of a mom. The cadence and rhythm of your “in between” statements are so magical and compelling, and so creative and clear. And the whole poem is so relatable: the truth of bribery as a means to good hygiene is splendid, and I imagine that every caregiver of children and youth has been at least tempted by that ageless device.
I have been sick all week and not been able to keep up with much of anything, but I am circling through! Thank you for being out there and here!