Kendall! Your beautiful language pierced my heart. My husband and I have been married for 19 years, and I am still struggling to find the words to describe the distance between us and whatever we've become. The way you used water as metaphor here - first for baptism, then for love - spoke strongly to my own situation. Thank you for sharing your gift. You really are an incredibly talented poet, and I admire that gift because I am not a natural poet at all. I will say I hope you are submitting your work to journals!
Thank you for the solidarity in this comment, Jeannie. It's scary writing about my marriage here, but I also know that so much of what we're going through is thoroughly relatable, and if I can find the words, I should share them with all the courage in my heart. So, your words mean the world to me.
Oh, dear Kendall, I am with you at heart! I totally feel what you’re saying. In fact, I wrote an essay called “When Something Goes Quietly Wrong” that I plan to publish this fall, and it was terrifying to write, because it was opening a door for the reader to walk through a scene from my own marriage. Really tough and emotional writing. But that’s the best kind, I think. And honestly, reading your poem today was a sort of exhale for me, reminding me that I can do this, too. XO
I can’t wait to read your essay, Jeannie! And yes, full solidarity with you there. I rarely write about my marriage, because I am so IN IT. And it’s not just my story to share. But when I am able to write something that expresses my experience without assuming to express his, I feel like I need to honor that. Thanks again for being here, friend.
Yes! Kendall, that’s what’s been so tricky for me in writing about my marriage, as well—sticking to my lived experience and sharing from my own perception/lens without vilifying him or making assumptions about his behavior. It’s definitely a skill, maybe even an art. I hope I do it justice in the essay I share later this year. Glad we are walking together in this! XO
Jeannie, I was so sorry to see your comment and know you are going through this too. I just commented above and it's my wish for you and your husband too.
So beautiful Kendall. I listened to it the first time, and the AI voice was hilarious in the breaks, I decided to read the poem myself and it was a much better experience. I would love for you to read it, with your voice. Something to think no about, perhaps, with future poems.
Ha, what a nudge, Janine, thank you! AI should never play with poetry, it's like running with scissors. 😅 I woke up and opened my window and read this comment and fixed it. The recording should be there now. (Imperfect, but better than the soulless lady!)
I look forward to listening! The AI lady is fine when reading your essays, but a disaster with your poetry. Thank you! I appreciate your humanity more than perfection. 💜
My friend… Love, like life, is an adventure, but even an adventure does not always feel like one.
There can be quiet times, or just plain hard work times, or times of conflict - even the confusion of losing your way.
It is a shared adventure too - and you can experience it differently from one another.
I never had a climbing partner who was always scared when I was - or as ecstatic as I become.
You never quite know when the weather will change - at sea or on a mountain - or in love - and you can’t know for sure what the outcome will be.
If you did, it wouldn’t be an adventure….
There is no accurate map for this, and certainly no GPS, but our heart is a 🧭 compass, Kendall, and I’m pretty sure yours is a reliable instrument. I bet your Daughter trusts it, and so should you.
Maybe your Husband is temporarily lost. (Men are not good at admitting that - even to themselves. I speak from experience.)
Thank you, Dave. This comment is a balm, and a whole meditation, and I'm receiving it with my heart wide open, compass in hand. The unknown outcome is really an adventure, isn't it? And I am surrounded by so much love on the journey; this I know with every fiber of my being. Sending so much gratitude across the ocean for your kindness, my friend.
Oh, my heart… this made the raw scars from my once broken heart ache and weep. Thank you for reminding me why I want to leap past my fear and write what’s real and true.
Oh, thank you for these words, Tammi. Every time I share something especially vulnerable here, I lose a bit of sleep. But if writing the real, true stuff can inspire someone else to do likewise, it's worth it. xo
Kendall, sometimes i feel like enough people don’t share what the raw truth behind married walls looks like, and this feels very on point. How many of us have split bedrooms, memories now faded into burning questions? The ache and longing in this was so very beautiful and vulnerable. I have been there … those dark and quiet nights that scream aloud from a loneliness so deep that you feel you may drown in it. The unknowing, the not being known. It is all so achingly tender. My husband and i have somehow miraculously found our way out of that abyss recently, but it was a long ten years of digging (often clawing) our way out, and still there are things that feel they will remain eternally unfulfilled, unattainable. But a new place of honesty found its way between us, refreshing at times, and at times, forcing us into a new way of turning to ourselves. Not quite how i imagined it … but there it is. I hope you may find a source of hope during this time you face with your husband, and whichever way the light may point, may it find you both in a place of peace. Sending you bigs hugs and loving encouragement my friend.
It’s so hopeful that there are so many beloveds here who have found themselves in the doldrums and are now back in the pull of the tides. Thank you for your own vulnerability in sharing this, Sabrina. It’s such a sacred thing to expose something that feels so raw and tender, and to be held by so many who know that particular ache. I am so honored to be in your company, friend.
Dear Kendall, first, my heart insisted that I send you a huge hug, so here goes…..OOOOO
Second, this was deeply moving - your sun, your moon, and tides telling the full story of love. I too once experienced my marriage ricochet out into the universe. But the rhythm of life pulled us back in…so yes, anything is possible. Please remember - in this moment - you are love - and you are loved. It is so easy to forget this in our dark hours. Xo
Thank you for this sincere and kind comment, Andrea. And I feel that hug! I love hearing that the rhythm of life pulled you back into your marriage. I do know that anything is possible, and hope is never far. xoxo
Kendall, this took my breath away. Not just because of the sheer beauty of your poetry but because of the way it resonated in my life. My second marriage lasted 17 years. I can't say that the sexual part of that marriage was ever as erotic as your poetry describes but when I hit menopause whatever we had disappeared. The creative and emotional parts of that marriage were deep and lasting but I failed to insist that we explore our sexual gulf. It turned out there was so much more happening there and maybe we could have repaired it but it was the rot that led to the end of the marriage. My third marriage definitely had the erotic element you describe and how welcome that was! Yet now my husband's illness has taken that aspect of our relationship away from us but it hasn't taken the love we share. So I know two sides to your second verse--pay attention, this is not okay and we're okay but it hurts so badly to lose something so beautiful. I hope this is only a season for you and you find new riches with each other. Thank you for being so raw and authentic with us.
Thank you for this generous comment and for sharing your experiences, Jane. There's so much rich reflection here, and I'm just so thirsty for these conversations. I'm so sorry that your husband's illness has taken the sensual aspect of your relationship away-- that is a big part of our equation as well. Here's to the love that is there, and to finding our riches wherever we may. xx
Oooh, Kendall... So many heart threads this contains. When you begin to slowly pull, and find yourself within the unraveling, this becomes the journey. One thing that I do know after a marriage that has endured so many tsunamis, is that to remember what caught me and spun me into this man's orbit, still exists. Just like matter, never gone, simply changing its shape. Loving care to each of you dear one. With you in the ache, the unknowing, and the beauty of what is even when it doesn't feel so. 💜💫
Thank you for this beautiful affirmation, Joanie. Yes indeed to remembering "what caught me and spun me into this man's orbit, still exists. Just like matter, never gone, simply changing its shape." That's a beautiful balm right now. xx
As Quakers say, Kendall, "This speaks to my condition, Friend." But that phrase understates how your poem hit and diffused straight to the core of my being. I hear you, I feel that pain and longing, and I wish for you wonder and sensuous joy again when the orbit and stars and time are right. In the meantime, find your way back to the gifts only you bring to this life. They are numerous and numinous. xo
I also know about the feeling of all is well in an aging relationship where physicality just isn’t the focus anymore. Relationships change and morph into new shapes. Just because the tide has frozen into a landbridge doesn’t mean that it’s less useful or fulllfiling.
But also…
When there is a mismatch in each shore’s heat. Ouff that hurts too.
God, I love the frozen land bridge image, thank you, Liz. Both/and is right. Sometimes relationships are sacred and useful and familiar and the absolute scaffolding of your life without being passionate or emotionally fulfilling, and that's just the season. And oof. 💙
Kendall! Your beautiful language pierced my heart. My husband and I have been married for 19 years, and I am still struggling to find the words to describe the distance between us and whatever we've become. The way you used water as metaphor here - first for baptism, then for love - spoke strongly to my own situation. Thank you for sharing your gift. You really are an incredibly talented poet, and I admire that gift because I am not a natural poet at all. I will say I hope you are submitting your work to journals!
Thank you for the solidarity in this comment, Jeannie. It's scary writing about my marriage here, but I also know that so much of what we're going through is thoroughly relatable, and if I can find the words, I should share them with all the courage in my heart. So, your words mean the world to me.
Oh, dear Kendall, I am with you at heart! I totally feel what you’re saying. In fact, I wrote an essay called “When Something Goes Quietly Wrong” that I plan to publish this fall, and it was terrifying to write, because it was opening a door for the reader to walk through a scene from my own marriage. Really tough and emotional writing. But that’s the best kind, I think. And honestly, reading your poem today was a sort of exhale for me, reminding me that I can do this, too. XO
I can’t wait to read your essay, Jeannie! And yes, full solidarity with you there. I rarely write about my marriage, because I am so IN IT. And it’s not just my story to share. But when I am able to write something that expresses my experience without assuming to express his, I feel like I need to honor that. Thanks again for being here, friend.
Yes! Kendall, that’s what’s been so tricky for me in writing about my marriage, as well—sticking to my lived experience and sharing from my own perception/lens without vilifying him or making assumptions about his behavior. It’s definitely a skill, maybe even an art. I hope I do it justice in the essay I share later this year. Glad we are walking together in this! XO
Jeannie, I was so sorry to see your comment and know you are going through this too. I just commented above and it's my wish for you and your husband too.
Well, that’s so kind of you, Jane. I think of you so often. XO
So beautiful Kendall. I listened to it the first time, and the AI voice was hilarious in the breaks, I decided to read the poem myself and it was a much better experience. I would love for you to read it, with your voice. Something to think no about, perhaps, with future poems.
Ha, what a nudge, Janine, thank you! AI should never play with poetry, it's like running with scissors. 😅 I woke up and opened my window and read this comment and fixed it. The recording should be there now. (Imperfect, but better than the soulless lady!)
So good. Hearing the voice of the poet reading her poetry is always so worth it. Thank you!
I look forward to listening! The AI lady is fine when reading your essays, but a disaster with your poetry. Thank you! I appreciate your humanity more than perfection. 💜
Whew Kendall. This is so raw and beautiful. Part earth, part longing— made me ache in the way brilliant poetry always does.
Thank you so mich, Kate. I'm undone that this comment has come from you.
Only fair I guess— I was undone by that poem of yours.
My friend… Love, like life, is an adventure, but even an adventure does not always feel like one.
There can be quiet times, or just plain hard work times, or times of conflict - even the confusion of losing your way.
It is a shared adventure too - and you can experience it differently from one another.
I never had a climbing partner who was always scared when I was - or as ecstatic as I become.
You never quite know when the weather will change - at sea or on a mountain - or in love - and you can’t know for sure what the outcome will be.
If you did, it wouldn’t be an adventure….
There is no accurate map for this, and certainly no GPS, but our heart is a 🧭 compass, Kendall, and I’m pretty sure yours is a reliable instrument. I bet your Daughter trusts it, and so should you.
Maybe your Husband is temporarily lost. (Men are not good at admitting that - even to themselves. I speak from experience.)
Call out, and he may find his way back.
Hold your Daughter’s hand tight.
Look for the river…
Best wishes
Dave
Thank you, Dave. This comment is a balm, and a whole meditation, and I'm receiving it with my heart wide open, compass in hand. The unknown outcome is really an adventure, isn't it? And I am surrounded by so much love on the journey; this I know with every fiber of my being. Sending so much gratitude across the ocean for your kindness, my friend.
I claim no wisdom my friend, but I will never buy a GPS because a compass is all we need. That, and the sun and the stars.
Even in a blizzard, love will always point the way.
It does for Meg and I. It will for you.
Best Wishes - Dave
Thank you so much, Dave. The compass is functioning just as it should. :)
Oh, my heart… this made the raw scars from my once broken heart ache and weep. Thank you for reminding me why I want to leap past my fear and write what’s real and true.
Oh, thank you for these words, Tammi. Every time I share something especially vulnerable here, I lose a bit of sleep. But if writing the real, true stuff can inspire someone else to do likewise, it's worth it. xo
That is utterly fabulous 😍
Thank you, Janey.
Kendall, sometimes i feel like enough people don’t share what the raw truth behind married walls looks like, and this feels very on point. How many of us have split bedrooms, memories now faded into burning questions? The ache and longing in this was so very beautiful and vulnerable. I have been there … those dark and quiet nights that scream aloud from a loneliness so deep that you feel you may drown in it. The unknowing, the not being known. It is all so achingly tender. My husband and i have somehow miraculously found our way out of that abyss recently, but it was a long ten years of digging (often clawing) our way out, and still there are things that feel they will remain eternally unfulfilled, unattainable. But a new place of honesty found its way between us, refreshing at times, and at times, forcing us into a new way of turning to ourselves. Not quite how i imagined it … but there it is. I hope you may find a source of hope during this time you face with your husband, and whichever way the light may point, may it find you both in a place of peace. Sending you bigs hugs and loving encouragement my friend.
It’s so hopeful that there are so many beloveds here who have found themselves in the doldrums and are now back in the pull of the tides. Thank you for your own vulnerability in sharing this, Sabrina. It’s such a sacred thing to expose something that feels so raw and tender, and to be held by so many who know that particular ache. I am so honored to be in your company, friend.
Dear Kendall, first, my heart insisted that I send you a huge hug, so here goes…..OOOOO
Second, this was deeply moving - your sun, your moon, and tides telling the full story of love. I too once experienced my marriage ricochet out into the universe. But the rhythm of life pulled us back in…so yes, anything is possible. Please remember - in this moment - you are love - and you are loved. It is so easy to forget this in our dark hours. Xo
Thank you for this sincere and kind comment, Andrea. And I feel that hug! I love hearing that the rhythm of life pulled you back into your marriage. I do know that anything is possible, and hope is never far. xoxo
This is achingly beautiful, Kendall. And my heart ached for you on reading it.
How brave you are to write this pain in its rawness with such unflinching honesty.
I wish you new stars, turning tides, and I send you love.
Thank you so much, Kay. “I wish you new stars, turning tides, and I send you love.” That’s so beautiful. xx
💜
Achingly rich.
This line : “ like the sea bending its wild ear to the moon,”
Stole my heart
Thank you, Teyani- I loved that one too. ;)
That line stole my heart too!
Oh gosh. I feel so seen. Marriage and long term partnership is so f’ing hard. So hard. Thanks for this, love! 💕
So f'ing hard. I know you know. Hand in hand.
Kendall, this took my breath away. Not just because of the sheer beauty of your poetry but because of the way it resonated in my life. My second marriage lasted 17 years. I can't say that the sexual part of that marriage was ever as erotic as your poetry describes but when I hit menopause whatever we had disappeared. The creative and emotional parts of that marriage were deep and lasting but I failed to insist that we explore our sexual gulf. It turned out there was so much more happening there and maybe we could have repaired it but it was the rot that led to the end of the marriage. My third marriage definitely had the erotic element you describe and how welcome that was! Yet now my husband's illness has taken that aspect of our relationship away from us but it hasn't taken the love we share. So I know two sides to your second verse--pay attention, this is not okay and we're okay but it hurts so badly to lose something so beautiful. I hope this is only a season for you and you find new riches with each other. Thank you for being so raw and authentic with us.
Thank you for this generous comment and for sharing your experiences, Jane. There's so much rich reflection here, and I'm just so thirsty for these conversations. I'm so sorry that your husband's illness has taken the sensual aspect of your relationship away-- that is a big part of our equation as well. Here's to the love that is there, and to finding our riches wherever we may. xx
I'm sorry to hear we have that in common, Kendall.
I was just telling someone that the “in sickness and in health” clause is in those vows for a reason. Sending you so much love!
It is. And it's hard. And it's also a richness to love. That you could love each other through such pain.
Oooh, Kendall... So many heart threads this contains. When you begin to slowly pull, and find yourself within the unraveling, this becomes the journey. One thing that I do know after a marriage that has endured so many tsunamis, is that to remember what caught me and spun me into this man's orbit, still exists. Just like matter, never gone, simply changing its shape. Loving care to each of you dear one. With you in the ache, the unknowing, and the beauty of what is even when it doesn't feel so. 💜💫
Thank you for this beautiful affirmation, Joanie. Yes indeed to remembering "what caught me and spun me into this man's orbit, still exists. Just like matter, never gone, simply changing its shape." That's a beautiful balm right now. xx
As Quakers say, Kendall, "This speaks to my condition, Friend." But that phrase understates how your poem hit and diffused straight to the core of my being. I hear you, I feel that pain and longing, and I wish for you wonder and sensuous joy again when the orbit and stars and time are right. In the meantime, find your way back to the gifts only you bring to this life. They are numerous and numinous. xo
Thank you for your wish for me, Susan, and the Quaker solidarity. This is just a hug of a comment, my friend.
Gosh Kendall, I know this feeling.
I also know about the feeling of all is well in an aging relationship where physicality just isn’t the focus anymore. Relationships change and morph into new shapes. Just because the tide has frozen into a landbridge doesn’t mean that it’s less useful or fulllfiling.
But also…
When there is a mismatch in each shore’s heat. Ouff that hurts too.
Both and.
God, I love the frozen land bridge image, thank you, Liz. Both/and is right. Sometimes relationships are sacred and useful and familiar and the absolute scaffolding of your life without being passionate or emotionally fulfilling, and that's just the season. And oof. 💙
I love how your work gets me thinking and that you welcome thinking along with you.
Wow, this is stunning! ✨
Thank you!