Message From An Island

I heard an angel speak to me.
She said he loves me.
In fact, the angel is real.
She's teaching me about "helping."

And when she speaks I listen.
And I think before I speak.
But when I write to her the quotes don't add up.
I wonder if she will wonder what I'm trying to say.

"I'm" not saying anything, the books are, but it makes me uneasy.
Oh and it also makes me perplexed to have confirmation that he may in fact be in love with me.
We've been through this before.
And I'm beginning to get the feeling we may go through this again.

Is it that I'm shocked?
I did so much work creating a story in tatters behind me.
The remnants are scattered across my states.
The ruin of me.

I'm actually collected.
It's the tale that's in pieces.
Not my version, mine is almost complete.
All the other accounts are distributed chaotically - controlled chaos.

When I hear the words, "I think he loves you."
I feel like a vested part of me is brought to life.
Like a vested interest.
Break, I cannot break.

However, I can sit and think a lot.
This is what I do now.
My mind seamlessly processes everything it's fed.
My most valuable processor.

I'm shy about revealing anything too specific at this time.
To say, "tonight" or "today" gives too much away.
Strangely, I do have a secret to tell you:
Half of what I write is fact and half fiction.

I put it to you to decide which is which.
I used to only write about my direct experience.
When I fell in love, you fell in love too.
I know you felt it.

My use of the word "you" has changed.
It used to mean mainly one person in particular.
Now it mostly means "the reader."
Something is changing, inside and out.

But to have a message from an island, a place where magic is happening.
To receive a message here, in a place that makes me "stronger, harder, faster."
It means, well, it only means what it means.
And to compose a message - a poem is a message - a letter too - is a creation all it's own...

The Baby Raccoon

it must be that I'm excited - brain whirring into the night
I sit by the open window listening to the summer wind in the trees outside
something happened, something changed
how can this be?
will it last?
I feel full inside
and after many hard days this must be gratefulness
I think about the past
the writings in my book
I think about the future
I think about the young Asian guy at the grocery store
"Are you looking for the apple ginger juice?"
I was looking at the coconuts
he wheeled the juice over
I felt a pang like I didn't want to let go of him
for speaking to me, for being something I liked in that moment
and I thought of all the young men in the store
many men with brown hair and lean bodies
I thought maybe some day I could find someone again
or even just have simple moments over juice
maybe I could - live -
and perhaps I could learn to run again
and surrender the hurt into my bible
my mother called me over tonight
to see a baby raccoon
his little mask was on
and there was yet another moment I could get behind
my mother - the raccoon
and then when I was sitting by the window
I heard a group of young people outside
they were having a party
they came outside
a girl whooped
a guy called his dog
he said, "she was chasing the ra-ccoon"
the way he said raccoon
it became a special word
and someone who used to love me
sending me messages
telling me he still misses me
and again I realize this life isn't over
and the day is behind me
the work I sent out into the ether
I sent it hastily, before I knew what it was
before I could decide this should be this way, and that should be like that
a surrender
it may be only one night, but in this moment I am home again
was I so far away that I could not land for all this time?
paralyzed inside myself - afraid to say so even
only fearless when it came to allowing myself to hate?
and for the first time I think maybe I'll stay here
maybe I won't
but maybe I will
I know at least tomorrow I will go out
and I will look at the clean, bright people
and I will ride a wonderful bike
with shocks, that hops over curbs
and carries me
I will probably wonder about some things
and I may cry again and again
but I will see my mother
and maybe some day I will see another baby raccoon