• Mathura Hawley

light

Updated: Aug 2, 2021


I pass empty bottles on my kitchen island where my old friends from New York were sitting and talking about their new lives in new cities."

The moon is full and Luke is asleep in a stream of light that crosses the deck and coats the trees. There has been little light in my life for two years. I was torn up and kicked around by a storm of chaos and darkness that never seemed to end. Divorce, illness, assault and unemployment covered my spirit thick with oil. This past January, I crawled my way across fourteen states with Luke and the only plan I had left: to keep trying. Tonight, as I walk through the house to turn off the lights, I see the shiny new Jeep that I bought two weeks ago parked in the driveway. I pass empty bottles on my kitchen island where my old friends from New York were sitting and talking about their new lives in new cities. I see the patio furniture on my deck, put together by a new, dear friend I did not even know six months ago. I see the blanket where Mike and I lay naked last week and watched the stars. I realize the roses I planted along the fence are in their second bloom. I close the door of the guest room where my friend stays when he is in town, and I think how, as soon as he unpacks, the energy of the house changes and it feels as if a brother is home. A couple of hours ago, my cardiologist called to give me the results of a test I have been waiting to take for months. “Your echo results are back and your function is even higher than last year,” she says with a smile in her voice. “Oh,” I say, “What does that mean, exactly?” “It means your heart has healed,” she says. I try to laugh, but my words choke a little when I speak. “Yes,” I say. I close my eyes and take a breath. “Yes, it has.”


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