Now that I’m retired, I have a lot more time to focus on my personal writing. I’m working on a memoir, and I also write a lot of poetry. Most of my poetry is extremely personal and I only share it with those closest to me, but I decided to share this one I wrote recently with the Hope for Widows readers.
Because the poem felt so intimate, I really had to mull over the idea. But I the more I considered sharing it, the more I realized that it may resonate with many of the widows who turn to this site for support and understanding. As we all are forced to move on from our past lives, and start new chapters, the memories will crop up when they are least desired. But why wouldn’t they? It’s only natural that any intimate moment shared with someone new will make us long for our unfinished pasts and elicit memories of the man we loved in that other life. We just need to keep the echoes of that love deep in our hearts, or – as I often do – express it in a poem.
SPINE TINGLING
You trace your finger gently down my spine
And I’m transported to a past life
Long ago,
I would lie behind him in bed at night, put my
Arms around him
and lean my head against his back
We’d sleep like that
With me playing the big spoon
My head resting comfortably
on my giant human pillow
But sometimes, before bedtime, as a joke,
I’d turn my head and
Push my nose into the center of his back
Pressing it lightly into his spine
He would jump and shriek, and then we’d laugh
It was funny how this big man
Could be so sensitive
And that I, alone, knew all his tingly spots
And now in the middle of this time with you
When you brush your fingers down my spine
I think of him and all I lost
When he died
I have this new life
And I’m thankful
I have another man
To share my bed
A man who likes to
run his fingers lightly, gently down my spine
But, in the joy, there is often this sorrow
And this intimate moment is flattened
Or is it hollow?
Because sometimes when you touch me
I can still hear the sound of another man’s husky laugh
echoing in the silence
This so resonates with me. I wrote a similar short blog after a slight breeze one evening transported me to a moment when his breath ticked my neck. ❤️ These small splinters of a moment that work their way in, never quite healing, and yet when something triggers it the memory can cause pain and tingly goosebumps.
Katherine, thank you once again for the beauty, truth, and comfort of your writing.
At three years, I miss the intimacy, once such an important part of being a woman and a couple, and at the same time have a very difficult time imaging someone else.
You continually provide insight and illuminate potential paths ahead.