Michelle Hess, M.A

No Consolation 

Mosaic tiles slip through my fingers—abruptly 

     clanking and clattering on the table.

(Again and again.)

Not like slick stones of my past 

sliding between my thumb

and index, rapidly, rhythmically—

Not like that.

(Over and over.)

Not like fine beach sand sifting over and 

through my golden grasp, sea salt air

licking my upturned face, smiling at the sun.

     Or even my finger writing love notes

in wet sand.

     Or even my pen gliding over pages

and pages—filled to the brim boxes of words

—decades worth.

(Not like that. Not anymore.)

Now things clatter to the floor—pens, pots, potential. 

The counter catches crumbs.

Water bottles break on the grey sidewalk

as I get out of the car. My smile flashes, and

I make another joke.

(It’s like that now.)

     The mosaic tile project full of Elmer’s glue 

and bright colors can’t rehabilitate them.

      Those hands

that wrote smoothly, ambidextrously, effortlessly.

Dare I say even the trite cliché? Yes? 

     Then,

“beautifully”.

(Again and again, 

over and over, 

decade after decade.)

Now a pen flings and flies—

over smooth paper—

with a seeming mind of its own 

     big spaces, jerks in the middle of words.

Now it’s like

gritted teeth, streaming eyes.

(Again and again.) 

     Broken things work a little. 

“At least that’s something.” 

     That is no consolation                
no matter if said

over and over.

Now it’s like 

starting over every day.

Now it’s like 

vacillating—a line drawn

with a wobbly hand 

in the sand, or in my mind.

     These broken bits—from a life

saved, unparalleled, unparalyzed—

     these tingling numb fingertips, form

     a new mosaic—some kind

of pattern—we can call “completed”. 

     For now.

Until another day, I try.

(Over and over.)

Here I am.

~Michelle Hess

When There Are No Words

When there are no words 

furrowed brow guards over silent cries

and even breathing hurts.

Trees sway with eucalyptus skirts. 

Egrets wade and seagulls still fly 

when there are no words.

Circling crows expel loud blurts 

while she silently listens to your lies. 

And even breathing hurts.

She parts the clay into even thirds 

at the window table behind your goodbyes, 

when there are no words.

The windowsill alive with herbs. 

Not a backward glance, your love has died. 

And even breathing hurts.

She turns away when the baby stirs,

forgotten already by you. Her heart sighs. 

When there are no words. 

And even breathing hurts.

Unshackled 

Shake off the fear

Embrace your calling (this isn’t 

About what you DO

It’s about your BEing)

Heal the exhaustion of an inauthentic life—trying to

Please

Position 

Push

Yourself 

Shake off the shackles

Rise up warrior—even if

You can’t stand.

You are a product of the

Acceptance & Rejection

Over your lifetime—so

Is your body 

(There are people who can tell your story just by looking 

at how you walk. No lie.)

Rise up and tell the truth

Shake off the lies

Bathe your brain in compassion

Develop the skill of

Acceptance, create

Habits to

Love more

Cultivate joy

Stop keeping score

Find your healing,

Bathe your brain in compassion

Shake off the fear 

Rise up warrior, unshackled,

warrior rise up.

mlhess 2019