A thin layer of dust

and a poem from postpartum

Burnish

There is a thin layer 
of dust
on the surfaces of my life
shelves, jars of honey
places where I keep parts
of my soul
unused, for a time
abandoned, but not forgotten

Others, 
are burnished with a raw glow—
the floor where I pace
in the night
my hands, warm with her
the place where
I sit and bounce her
bounce her, bounce her
until the crying stops

burnish and dust
absence and presence
what demands the entire globe
of your attention?
and what is left untouched?

the sun 
lights 
the crescent moon
of my life
and the rest
goes dark
not lost, just in night

I live here now, 
in this one vivid arc

the hem of Mother Mary’s skirt,
holy metal that welcomes the pilgrim,
touched and touched
until it’s gold
until it’s worn down
until the soul is unearthed

We lose nothing by 
giving 
everything up.

I wrote the first version of this poem when I was freshly postpartum and most of my life felt like something I had had to leave behind. An array of objects left on a shelf, untouched.

Two years in, and this still resonates deeply.

I’m still in a process of dusting off parts of myself that haven’t been touched since my daughter was born. Some pieces I may never pick up again. Others, I’m learning how to hold once more— like a soapstone molded to another hand.

And then there’s the new things I can now hold. My daughter’s hand as she jumps down the front steps. The silk of her hair coming to swirl on the back of her neck.

The parts of myself I had never encountered before, but that now seem to anchor the whole world. The quartz of my backbone. The dewclaws underneath my hands. This body made of scars and stretch marks and softness, softness everywhere. Things I should have been holding forever, but that I’m just now learning how to love.

The burnish of confidence that comes with knowing who you are once you give everything up.

There’s still a layer of dust over much of my life, but I embrace it now as pollen. As powdered life. As stardust. It has its own regenerative qualities, this dust, if I simply embrace its presence.

It is teaching me what is worth picking up.