a list for the moon

Raine has recently reached motherhood, alongside the growing baby and her belly, her writing has become more refined. ‘a list for the moon’ is in my top three poems sweet Cheyenne has written.

This poem really pulls at my senses; it gives me comfort. It takes me out of my mind and connecting with the moon–connecting with the night sky.

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a list for the moon

by Cheyenne Raine

• • •

a list of times i have fallen in love with the moon:

- before the sun climbs into the sky, and a sliver
of lavender lays against the horizon,
the moon still grey as ever.

- when the harvest comes
and yellow tints the moon,
autumn brushing through the leaves.

- driving through my neighborhood
at three in the morning, peeking up
at the almost full moon,
wondering why the night couldn’t last
just a little longer.

- watching a storm off in the distance
the moon unfazed
the city receiving lightning
the sea calm and untouched.

- the moon’s reflection in the water,
milky crests finding their way
back into dark shades of blue.

- scribbling words under porch lights
and talking to the moon
when i couldn’t find the words.

- snapping a photo for a friend,
because their sky was cloudy
but mine was clear,
and the moon is always
such a lovely sight.

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Cheyenne Raine is a contributing author to Introspective Collective; illustration by Regan Smith.

A Hero in Flames

This is the second post of Jane's on this site, with her first being White Stag. This next poem, A Hero in Flames, took my breath away and poured inspiration into my empty cup. A while after writing this poem, Jane found that she is officially cancer free–a miraculous work of God that deserves ceaseless celebration.

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a hero in flames

by jane claudio

If I was to die
It would be with the reflection of the mountains in my eyes
I would die with sun-pink cheeks
And a mouth full of blackberries

I want to die while my heart is still a greenhouse for hope
All my wild dreams as seedlings in egg cartons
Reaching toward the window

I cannot die yellow and hungry
I will not die in sterile air

But I would like to die
While the fireflies are still glowing
Morse coding their poetry for a cynical earth

I would like to die like Joan of Arc
With dignity and urgency and stubbornness
As a watercolor portrait in the night
A sight to behold, a hero in flames

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Photo by Keeli Faith

Jane Claudio is a cancer survivor in Nashville, Tennessee. She uses writing as a cure for loneliness and a magnifying glass for the beauty we experience every day. She is also shares her words through songwriting, with her work being accessible at www.nightbirde.com. 

Surrender

m a y   8

With a quiet mind, 
and soft spirit, 
either you will show me or teach me; 
though they are synonymous.

• • •

m a y   15

Just take a moment—
I tell myself—
to lay and look up at the sky;
see how small you are, 
beneath the myriad of the white billow’s bloom. 

Oh, how our woes,
could never crumble the clouds—
my eyes are drawn and drift, 
along their lull. 

All else evaporates. 

• • •

m a y   25

I hear the red cardinal call, singing the song of today with the occasional hum of a modern day machine. I’m practicing open awareness, the simplest form of gratitude. To acknowledge everything in existence, and to soak in all surroundings. I look at what’s ahead, along with each fuzzy-faint fragment happening within my peripherals. I’m amidst a stagnant scene—neighbor boy, not even four years of age, playing with airplanes while a maintenance man fixes another’s air conditioning. 

Recognizing it all, without label or thought. Solely existing, inevitably followed by gratitude. 

Little pieces of tree pollen fall on my head and tangle in my hair. Alternating bees linger around my yellow mug, filled to the brim with hot tumeric, ginger tea. The breeze picks up and releases more pollen, gravity pulling it to ground. 

This is where serenity dwells, within the stillness. My tired mind has finally been emptied of its clutter and clamor, and now is solely taking up space. I get lost in this space, buried in gratitude. Amidst this space, this blank scene, anxiety isn’t able to erupt in any form nor capacity. For I am breathing freely, standing still with a wide-lens view, encompassed by my surroundings. I’m allowing myself to hear, feel, breathe. 

• • •

j u n e   8

It’s a pause of a page turn, 
mid-way. 

A thin piece of paper wavering; 
no camaraderie nor support from either ends of the book; 
rather stagnant, enveloped only by air, 
connected, only through the shared spine. 

The pages which lay left are known, 
their words well read, 
though the words on the right, remain unrevealed—
though a few catch my eye; 
terms recognized, 
restless to be read, 

but it’s a pause of a page-turn, mid-way.

• • •

j u l y   4

My shaky knees sit together, 
with feet on the wall, 
propping me back into the posture-failing chair, 
a few feet away from my mother-in-law in the hospital bed. 

I peer out the blinds onto the small-town city, 
saturated in the sunset’s glow. 
It’s harsh light glares through the blinds, 
onto the wall that’s been begging for its light. 

My mind is a mixed up ball of yarn, 
a thread of thought that’s been tumbled and knotted—
stature matching my stomach. 

A low quality audio recording plays to her in the background, 
along with the occasional gurgle from obstruction in her lungs, 
accompanied by the throat humidifier’s hum that moonlights as a white noise machine.  

My hummingbird heart and half open head tosses confusion, 
fights with frustration; 
I ache for her bones that have been touched by pressure ulcers, 
I have sorrow for her skin that feels the fabric of the hospital gown, 
of every pinch and every needle, 
though isn’t able to move a muscle. 
I pray for her mind that working in full capacity, 
but can’t communicate verbally. 

I breathe deep.

God’s never left us,
and hasn’t now. 

He hasn’t vanished for even a second within this all-enduring wait; 
though we wonder when this hour will be over. 

He’s in the humidified air,
alongside the shoulders holding a cinderblock weight, 
and in the bright blue eyes of my mother-in-law. 

He’s there when our hearts lay so heavy, 
when the diagnosis offers months, 
when doctors share the prognosis with tears welling, 
when my soul feels shattered.

He’s in these moments where her husband feels peace, 
one that surpasses all understanding; 
He’s in the hearts that the nurses carry, 
their patience and diligence. 

He’s holding us, 
calming our minds, 
holding our hearts, 

even amidst the mess.

Uncapped

September 30, 2017

I wrote this letter a few days back for my husband, Ricky, as we approach another marriage milestone. Each year is a milestone, in our era, where the divorce rate is a heartbreaking fifty-percent. There is no couple that experiences only the sweet drops of honey, without encountering the sticky moments, too. I wanted to share this letter, with the permission from my love, along with some old disposable-camera photos I sifted through earlier this week. I couldn't be more thankful for our growth and the beautiful love that we reflect and ricochet, a mirror-facing-mirror. 

. . . 

I’m seated stationary on the big block of concrete that overlooks the green ivy leaves and the dingy downtown river. It’s our favorite urban escape, where we bring our twenty-pound pup on our thirty-minute lunch breaks. 

Tomorrow is our third year of being married to the other—a momentous occasion. Though our dating year was darling and the newlywed hours beautiful, this past year holds paramount. We stood together, against all odds, fighting for each other rather than opposed. A deep, saturated love is birthed when it is a committed choice, rather than a happenstance feeling. For feelings flee faster than a lightning strike, vanishing in an instant, revealing its true selfish state.

But commitment and engaging to love through all endeavors is where true love runs, rich and pure. This is the love that refines every atom, our makeup challenged and tested. How a partner acts within adversary is when honest intentions are uncovered. 

I have had both these types of love with you. 

When we got married, during the golden hour’s amble, I didn’t think my selfish love capacity could increate any further. As the breeze which defines evening from afternoon nipped at our lungs, I was wholly smitten. I was naive in the art of loving through commitment—as all those who have not pulled a witness to sign, expressing direct vision of oath and vow. 

These past few years have been heart wrenchingly beautiful, exposing and expunging all that does not mirror our maker. You’ve never stop trying to, either—the greatest trait that I unknowingly own in a husband, life partner, three years ago. It’s rare to hold a loved one who consistently strives towards conviction.

I'm thankful that you found that in you. 

You have been patient and gracious with me, honest and true. I’m thankful for this endless transparency. My heart still sings when I’m with you, and you join in—together singing praise and giving thanks. 

Your transformation as a human is unparalleled. You are my home, the recipient of all love letters, my greatest joy on this temporary earth; we hold a love no capacity can climb. 

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Rebirth

For the past month and a half, I’ve taken a few steps back. I’ve been able to recollect myself and take a long, deep, cleansing breath. I’ve privately penned notes for myself as well as letters for my forthcoming poetry collection—its unfolding has held a mirror to my mind. I thank you, reader, for your patience and support during my absence.

I underwent some great alterations within my tangible life, with a sweeping growth within my mental state. I initially thought that by taking a pause from distractions, creativity would pour from my fingers. This happened, in a way. 

For the past five years, I’ve placed a careful emphasis on perspective growth. I’m constantly working on stretching the way that I perceive experiences, while kneading out negativity. These past couple of months supplied great opposition, yielding accelerated growth within my understanding.

There were nights that came quickly, leaving me depleted from the day’s thoughts—heat radiating towards my eyelids, sinking slowly. When my mind is sore and my perspective feels bleak, I am susceptible to slipping back into an inverted state. With racing thoughts swirling throughout my head and tears collecting at my jawline, I recognized that my mind would remain weak if I recluse. For I am undergoing deep rooted growth. My mind has been emotionally training—exhausted and distressed—but building up and strengthening towards a strong and brilliant future. The process can be tedious and taxing, but the outcome will be filled with tenacious endurance—but only if I push through my gasping lungs and my burning legs. 

These occurrences within this breathing space forced me to stretch out and hold onto my Creator, expanding within His peace. He has uncovered answers and holistic understanding—a quiet, yet boundless forest. The forest floor is densely packed with ferns and thick tree trunks of truth. Mushrooms and leaves from the magnolia tree are scattered, leading up to where the river runs by, seeping hope. The gentle wind invigorates freedom, as I’m amidst the comfort of the all-encompassing sun. He is the oasis for my brittle bones and weary mind. 

This sanctuary and its teachings have been translated into little notes written while I’m at my wooden desk at work, along with feverishly written pages stuffed within my leather-bound journal. By just taking a breath and recognizing the moment at hand, all distractions dissipate and my soul is calm. This is where my strength is regained, since I was never the source of my own strength. 

Gratitude, tranquility and eternity have been poised towards the top of my mind and have been spilled into each piece I construct. These past two months, I was able to handwrite, lick and send out some letters across the county—connecting through an old-fashioned and intentional way. I even received a few letters back, and have sealed and shipped my reply. My husband and I adopted a little rescue pup, who has showered me with such love; I’m eager to share him with you. Greatest of all, I’ve been able to thank, praise, and expound in joy to the only one who matters. 

I’ve been rebirthed, reborn, saved and strengthened; this epitome of perspective has been placed as paramount, and my gratitude never runs out. I am incredibly honored, to have you here, and to be able to share these pieces of my heart with you. 

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I will also be sharing this gratitude and joy through my Instagram as well as continue to through this blog, Introspective Collective. If you feel inclined to follow, you can 'Subscribe' towards the bottom of this page to receive emails when new posts are published on this site. 

Paradise

Those that I have a personal relationship with or who have been following my life through Instagram or Twitter know that I recently traveled to Hawaii with my husband (Ricky) for a recess. I will forever be an open-book, and wanted to briefly share a few encounters of being away with an emphasis on returning home. 

It was an amazing happening to be able to visit a land in which I have never witnessed, alongside my love, growing our experiences together. We were able to escape the everyday duties, chores and obligations, with opportunity to explore multiple Hawaiian islands.

There is something special in surpassing the tourist regions—a rawness and authenticity that comes with each mile driven past the last blinking traffic light. These are the ventures that we sought out, even if it meant walking by foot or learning the island’s public bus system. We perched ourselves among the Eucalyptus trees, popping macadamia nuts purchased from a local marketplace store. We were able to plan our own adventures each morning.

We experienced a rush of water, from the word’s rainiest peak, down our backs as we drifted down its runoff. 

We went snorkeling by a crater, with water so clear the depth from the surface to ocean floor made me anxious. This forced me to command my body to be calm, which was an empowering revelation. We found the other’s hand beneath the water’s surface and pointed out exotic fish, laughing underwater and ultimately getting saltwater in our nose; these were salty-sweet moments. 

We climbed across a rocky edge of a cliff, grasping the volcanic rocks for balance as the ocean crashed behind us. Little crabs scurried around the soggy moss beneath our feet. This adrenaline-inducing climb brought us to an uninhabited piece of land that quietly overlooked the ocean, interrupted by the waves smacking against a small canyon. In this moment, I felt small amidst the massive mountains and deep blue waters. I felt close to my accomplice that endured this crazy exhibition with me. 

We flew to 13,000 feet within the air and jumped off the airplane to experience a true birds-eye view of Oahu—falling towards the mountains and ocean—catching a glimpse of the whales coming up for air, splashing with their babies submerged by the vast Pacific. We saw the island of Maui within the distance as we sank through clouds. The feeling I encountered is what I would imagine rainbows to feel. 

My mind experienced magic with each encounter. These are the lands, and the moments that I will daydream of. After about a week and a half, we were set to return home. 

Aside from the jet lag and 13 hour flight, I was looking forward to coming home. With past cruises that Ricky and I have taken, I had felt an ache with their end. It was a feeling of physical resistance in rebellion of going back to regular life, the mundane. 

As I sat within the turbulent air train, I analyzed what had inspired the switch in emotion. Apart from coming home to Nashville, rather than Ohio, I started to account the acknowledgment of awareness within my routine. I noticed that over time I have learned to scatter gratitude throughout each concurrence of living and task—creating a positive perception on every aspect within the everyday.

Where I reside now, is the home where I feel safe with space to create. This little loft has been allotted to art—here I write, paint, letter and upload tiny works like these to you, reader. Surrounded by the fragrance of sweet honey and citrus, I am able to expound upon these works while developing and translating them to multiple mediums. I share them with my handsome husband as he sits on the love-seat, leaning his weight onto its shoulder with interest.

This is home to a few of my closest friends, with the roads leading up to their homes memorized by habit. Their souls are lined with gold accents and natural light. With the aroma of freshly ground coffee and vegan-baked goods, we dig deep into conversation. It is where the bulb lights hang within the church I love, along with its community. 

Here, is where inspiration can be found through a blanket laid out within the backyard, carpeted by green grass with an open novel or notebook. The act of refreshing the mind with a quiet getaway within the forest, surrounded by Sugar Maple and Bur Oak trees.

This is where I have been challenged to grow further than what meets the eye. Truly recognizing the subconscious and altering its automatic release, confronting myself to recognize and live in-line with the letters my creator wrote. 

This is where my husband and I have drawn closer to one another—for the love we have has been cultivated through the the day-to-day. The struggles contain the conversations that evoke greater unity, and deeper understanding of ourselves and one another. The gentle pauses and soft smiles, inspired by nothing except love for the other.

I loved breathing in the Hawaiian air, but I love coming back. For where I live is my own, personal paradise.