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Poetry: 4 a.m. Walk

“You’ll never run again,” he says without looking at me. Cutting words. Biting words. Meant probably to inspire words. Didn’t mean it like that words. Nevertheless, hurting words. Shutting the door behind me, I eat my words. Chocolate-covered words that push back oceans. Candy-coated red words I keep in my purse. Fast food words meant to stop accident words and cops at my front door words and friends who don’t call any more words and razors cutting my baby’s arms words and a dad who won’t talk to me words and it’s probably time to move on words and some people I love have died words.

“I used to run,” I tell the faint sliver moon. Used to, but now my knee hurts, my hip feels tight, and there’s so much more of me. I’m too big. Too big for clothes in the regular part of the store. Too big I might break lawn chairs if I sit down too fast. Too big I must turn sideways to fit through turnstiles. Too big but still the pain swells to fit in all the cracks. Too big but still men like the one who slipped something into my drink and took me in the bathroom still look at me and smile. Too big for feeling this lost. Too big for all this love I have. Too big for all the love I don’t have.

I walk in my new bright shoes. I walk in the dark, so nobody will see me. But I see. I see how the shadow of a bush can look like a dolphin. I see how the street lights turn the gutter into a golden river. I see a tiny solar light create a white starburst across the dark pavement. I see how my breath comes easier when I move. I see how I’ve fallen in love with words and Peter Pan and vulnerability and truth. I see how pain can be stuck but then unstuck. I see how running isn’t the goal, but that nobody should ever say nevers to people they love. I see how I’m still walking. I’m still walking.

56 thoughts on “Poetry: 4 a.m. Walk”

    • Thank you for the kind words. I go back and forth in acceptance of my body, but I think it’s important to acknowledge that I used the words “too big” a lot. I know that sounds an awful lot like judgement, but I mean it more as fact. The realities of my bigger body create challenge for myself that I wouldn’t have otherwise. This bigger self is both a suit of armor and an invisibility cloak. There’s a lot wrapped into how we treat our bodies.

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      • That’s so true and politically, women aren’t supposed to take up space. The way we sit, move and how big we are. We all think about our bodies, we’re taught to do so and the media reinforces all of it. Even little girls have issues nowadays. And I think you brought up a good point…women use a lot of things as armor and invisibility cloaks, make up, the way we dress, etc.

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  7. Beautiful photo! Very interesting use all words written in poem.
    “walk in my new bright shoes. I walk in the dark, so nobody will see me. But I see. I see how the shadow of a bush can look like a dolphin”! Lovely words written you.

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  10. Hi Bridgette, lovely poem. The first part left my mouth on the floor. I too walk at 4:45am but never really noticed the beauty that you did. I mostly see Amazon drivers and rabbits. Now I’m going to keep my eyes peeled. Thank you!

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    • Thank you, Penny. It was a hard poem to write, but it spilled out as if the words just couldn’t be contained anymore. I see you too my lovely friend. I’m looking forward to hugging you later this week.

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  14. This is stunningly beautiful and meaningful, my dear friend. Having read this three times now, I am almost speechless. I understand covering up the pain with bigness and the fact that it can act as a form of protection against getting hurt – except it doesn’t necessarily stop the hurt, but our minds tell us otherwise. I’ve been there, too, although I’m more often in the opposite corner of being small and smaller to protect myself. That doesn’t work, either. I read your poem as a story, a wonderful one, full of depth, feeling and tenderness, even if not towards yourself. You deserve that tenderness, to be treated kindly and lovingly. You are one of the most precious people I know, dear Bridgette. I am glad you keep on walking – do as much of that as you need, as much as it helps. You deserve a golden footpath to walk along. I don’t know if I’m making much sense here – your poem conjured up so many amazing images in my mind that I didn’t know how else to express them. So much love to you, dear friend. Xxx 💖💟💝

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    • Oh, Ellie. Thank you for such beautiful and kind words straight from your heart. I love the idea of a golden footpath. This was a hard poem to write and I’m glad it touched you and that you felt it deserved multiple readings. There’s no greater compliment than that. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

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    • Thank you for such thoughtful feedback. It’s a hard poem and I’m glad the repetition and ending work well for you. It’s not a format I write often, but these words would take no other form. I’m learning to listen.

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  20. Beautiful strength you’ve written here, Bridgette! 💞💞💞 Pain wrapped up from hurtful words, then strength rising from pile of words that weighed you down. I pray your words reach EVERY one who needs a glimmer of light shining in their own darkness. 💞💞💞

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    • You are always so generous and kind with your comments, Dawn. Thank you! I do hope that if my words resonate with someone it brings them peace and leaves them with a sense of hopefulness. I’m always searching for the threads of hope to tug on.

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      • Thank you, Bridgette 💞 and you are most welcome. I think those like you who are searching are the ones more likely to find and share them….they know what its like to be unable to see them at times. 💞💞💞

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