Big Harry Hippo Arm Hugs

I suddenly remember being very little and being embraced by my father. I would try to put my arms around my father's waist, hug him back. I could never reach the whole way around the equator of his body; he was that much larger than life. Then one day, I could do it. I held him, instead of him holding me, and all I wanted at that moment was to have it back the other way. ~ Jodi Picoult

My Dad gave the best hugs and I miss knowing he is there to hug me with his ‘Big Harry Hippo’ arms, as my sister and I called them when we were little.  His arms were so big in comparison to his young, then dark haired, blue eyed daughters.  He took the Harry Hippo label in stride, grinning and hugging us a bit more tightly.

Earlier today, quite unexpectedly, I burst into tears over something relatively trivial in the whole scheme of things.  You see, today is Dad’s birthday and that the occasion came but Dad is not here was an undercurrent that had the whole day askew.  Although I was aware of the date, I didn’t actually see the tidal wave coming, but come it did.  When it hit this afternoon, I put my head in my hands and wept.  Shortly after the dam broke, though I felt two slender arms wrap around my shoulders; I recognized them immediately. They belonged to my son.  My son favors his Granddad in many ways.  He has my Dad’s thick hair, which will, no doubt, grey prematurely, and my Dad’s hands with capable, square fingertips.  As my son hugged me and surprisingly lingered a moment, I realized something wonderful.  My Dad actually gave the second best hugs. ~ Mk Michaels

My Necrosis

 

There is a necrosis in me,

of body and spirit.

To cut away the rotting parts

would be to lose that which was hard won

decades ago at the price of great pain.

 

I mourn the perceived loss of this limb

and hope for a sign that something remains;

a phantom limb, greening, life.

I check the edges for the slightest

hint of raw, pink flesh around the edges

of the blackness that has taken up residence

in my once vibrant being.

 

I’d bandage my blackened limb

if I thought it would help,

but having lost and re-grown flesh before,

I know time is the only treatment.

 

…speaking frankly, though,

I am fucking sick and tired of keeping vigil

while waiting for healing to occur.

 

~ Mk Michaels, 2016

Permanence

 

 

Like the wind-warped cypress,

firmly rooted in the rocky soil

above the violent beauty

of the Pacific coast,

I stand resolute.

 

Many of my sisters have fallen,

but I remain and bear witness

to the cerulean water below,

lifting first to the heavens,

then crashing earthward

against the seemingly immovable rocks just offshore.

 

The rocks, blissfully ignorant,

do not know the water,

in its patience and persistence

will win, but I,

I see their future.

 

The water,

swirling, crashing, eroding

will reduce the rocks to sand.

In time.

For water always finds its way

no matter how impenetrable

the obstacle before it.

 

As I have bent with the winds of change,

so too does the undulating water before me.

In this I realize

I am more like water

than the cypress

for although I may bend

and occasionally break,

I will always find a way through.

 

~ Mk Michaels, 2016