Years Ago, My Friend Had A Ganglion Cyst, Right On Her Wrist.
Years ago, my friend had a ganglion cyst, right on her wrist.
Fluid build-up. Best to let it rest.
Don’t aggravate the joint.
It’ll go away on its own.
.
Some days, I think memory is a bit like that.
A build-up in oft-agitated joints,
The nerve bundle harmed by relentless back-and-forth that has become
habit,
Become routine.
It goes away on its own, quiet as a last breath stealing out of a lung.
Fades as time wears on.
.
Other times, it’s more like a broken bone, never healed right.
You remember the crack, the pain, the wrong-ness
of the displaced shards of calcium.
You remember the painstaking, irritating, frustrating process
of healing and relearning simple tasks.
.
On rainy days, the bone twinges.
On rainy days, you are right back to the break.
.
—you can always wait for the sun (y.c.)
More Posts from Wandering-writer-poet and Others
“We keep wasting away, whiling away our days, chasing what? Fame? Fortune? Those might not last, darling. Love might. Hope might. Joy might. Chase those. They’ll keep you warm when cold fate abandons you in a trench on the side of a road.”
— what are we chasing? (y.c.)
Ver • ti • go
(noun)
1. Standing on a rooftop with you and your
daredevil smirk and unfaltering gaze; the
warmth of your hand as you took mine,
joy turning my world to a dizzying
kaleidoscope of scents and colours
2. Standing in an empty flat with pieces of you
and me scattered on the floor; feeling that
chasm opening inside me and knowing your
wouldn’t be here to catch me, not this time
(—Yushan C.)
Photography by Hilde Engerbråten
Home is teddy bears
exuberant cheers
child’s laughter
parents’ pride
Home is quiet 2 A.M. conversations
thoughts too loud for music
words too raw to speak
pen ink fresh on a page
Home is tea steeping
cookies baking
alarms beeping
clocks ticking
Funny how so much of
Home
is what I made from
Everything
you never gave me
— Yushan C.
She was a bright soul who
loved dark things—
Demons
Regrets
Heartbreak
and
Me
Maybe it was because she
fancied herself
enough
to redeem all of them.
— Yushan C.
Can you wait out the winter?
I became so much more delicate
when I was with you—
in body
in spirit
Some days,
a strong gust of wind could’ve scattered me
over the globe
like ashes in an ocean
You taped HANDLE WITH CARE on me and
ignored your own warning
And when I was shattered on the floor,
when I was left sewing together
what was left of my soul
Without you,
That’s when I woke up
and finally realized how much better I am
Without you
So t h a n k y o u
for teaching me
I don’t need anyone but
Me
— Yushan C.
Quiet
She was quiet
But not in a nice way
She was the silent storm
The blow that came out of nowhere
The one you never saw coming
She’s been through hell you can’t even imagine
Her scars are a shield
Her words are weapons
She can’t be controlled
Tamed
She is the wild wind
The rebel without a cause
The broken fallen angel
She’s beautiful like an ocean in a tempest
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes
She walks in the wake of battle and turns her head to the blood-red sky
And smiles.
She is quiet
Not in a nice way
She is quiet the way
Lightning
Makes no sounds before it
Strikes
— Yushan C.
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Writing excerpts and poetry on nostalgia, regret, identity, optimism—just about everything, really.Main blog: aceass1n
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