two hands

What does it mean to be the one who stays?

A stone in a running stream

The one who tends the fire or keeps the kettle going

So others may pass through

The one who stays is the holder

Holder of memories, feelings, stories, secrets

Two hands have never been enough to hold anyone

Threads and paper become vessels we may pour ourselves into

Time is kept in stitches and needlework

Stories and adventures transformed to ink bleeding through a page

The one who stays, the holder, is also the collector

 Trinkets from travels spanning provinces, oceans, continents

Lifetimes make their way to windowsills, pockets and hidden boxes

Safe from moth and mice

A well-worn blanket or pair of socks, a love letter, a journal or sketchbook

Hold living memory

Passed over by many hands, many seasons, many years

The ones who leave

Whose boots are worn and caked with mud

Whose skin crackles in the sun

Whose laughter spread across rivers, mountains and forests

They carry a small lantern, a deep well of all they have seen, smelt, tasted, kissed and hated

Two hands and a mouth have never been enough and so the holder holds

And the ones who leave take flight again and the cycle continues

Everything you have touched remembers you in some way

Your life has impact, we change and flow through and with our environment

We become ourselves through leaving and staying

And when we are gone we will never be too far

For traces of our being are woven deep into the world and the life we created

Imprinted onto every object we ever held dearly

Through all the suffering and heartbreak, love and excitement

The threads on your back have absorbed it all, each stitch consumed with your being

So I sit and hold a piece of you, with two hands

It’s not all of you

But it’s enough

Feb. 27th 2018