Poem – wildflowers

The first wildflowers
of the year
are timid
and hesitant,
like violets.

Violets are known
as shrinking violets,

They are unsure
if it is safe
to come out

They are the first to show up
at the party
but the party
hasn’t quite started

It is dangerous to come out
so soon.
The freeze might happen.
But in many ways
they are safer
the lawnmowers
haven’t come out yet

After they
pave the way
then the other flowers
can come.

Flowers and vegetables

I buy my own flowers, and I cook my own vegetables. I have to. I need to.

I wanted my husband to buy me flowers and to cook more vegetables, but it didn’t happen. Rather than feel resentful, I decided to show love to myself. Every week when I go to the grocery store, I get fresh vegetables and some flowers. He benefits from these things, sure, but I’m the first recipient.

For years I told him that we needed to start eating more vegetables. Eating mostly meat isn’t healthy. We didn’t have to go to being vegetarian, but at least more like omnivores. And by vegetables I meant actual, fresh vegetables. Not ones from the freezer, and not ones that had been processed to a point that they were unrecognizable.

This was beyond him.

Preparing fresh vegetables takes 20 minutes, from chopping up to steaming, but every night we’d end up eating an hour after I came home at 8. That is way too late to eat. I still can’t figure out how he was wasting that much time.

What pushed it over the edge was when I hurt my back and my chiropractor said that I needed to eat a vegetarian diet for a week to reduce the inflammation. My spouse totally didn’t get it, and I became even angrier and angrier as my physical pain got worse and worse.

I felt helpless.

Food is a basic need, and eating healthy is important. I felt that he was not providing for me in the way that I needed. Deep down, I felt that he was not loving me in the way that I needed. This is part of why I decided to make learning how to cook my goal for this year.

While I’m glad to feel self sufficient, I’m a little sad that he isn’t able to take care of me in this basic way.

It isn’t like I needed him to make a six digit salary, and to buy me furs and diamonds. It isn’t like I needed him to work hard enough that I didn’t have to.

It sounds selfish, and sad, and empty, that in this basic way he can’t support me. It is food, and flowers.

But, in a good way, I’m glad that I decided to love myself in the way that I needed to be loved. Rather than feel empty and abandoned, I decided to take matters into my own hands. It is healing at the same time it is sad.

Somehow, while I’m building myself up, I’m separating from him. I’m getting stronger by not relying on him as much. It is scary in a way.

I don’t trust women who crow about their husbands all the time – about how awesome they are, how wonderful, how supportive. I don’t believe them. Everybody has a shadow side. No person is perfect. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to get really angry about how much of a slob he is, or how scatterbrained or thoughtless.

Who cares if you stay when the relationship is good? It is how you work out the hard stuff that matters.

Poem – Spring’s progression

First the redbuds, then the dogwoods
then jonquils
then irises.

They come, in that order, marching
into our lives, heralding

They flower together only in our minds.
They flower one by one,
in the slow progression of time.

None see the others in their prime.
The dogwood’s bloom dusts the ground
that the iris dances upon.

Time and time and time
and more.

We mark it by the flowers.

We know when is when by our eyes
and not by the calendar.

Soon the twilight will be lit up by fireflies.
A different kind of bloom,
but still a marking of time.

You are here, now, they say.
Enjoy it.
Soon there will be another delight, they say.
Enjoy it.

It won’t last, but that is part
of the beauty.