ginger hair

and

turned tables

peaceful moments

that ended

in the wrong

words

awkward glances

and

unshared feelings

i lost you

then loved you

a little too

late

this is the

sort of hurt

that bandaids

can't fix

When the hurt of the world gets too close,

come to my kitchen. It won't be peaceful,

there’s no time for worry. I’ll braid your hair

with purple ribbons. And we’ll dance

on the chairs

We’ll drink ginger tea-

with lots of ginger. So much

ginger. Until

the songs we sing along to. The songs on the radio

are woven with ginger. The ginger will

be

fogging the windows and

curling through the air. Golden and

we’ll have ginger in our blood.

We’ll run in the rain. Sit on the porch

and eat a bowl of rice.

And the air will be full of ginger

she dyed her ginger hair

the brownish orange

bleached and dyed

now it's blue

or is it green?

it's been a while since i've seen her

last time i saw her

we frolicked in her grandmothers backyard

and layed on her mattress

and fought over the blanket

i counted each freckle

that dusted her cheeks

with a peaceful serentity

and worshipped her thighs

with quiet adoration

when we talk

i choke down

declarations of love

because they only make the

sting in my chest

hurt worse

and of course,

i want to see her

i miss her

like half my lung is missing

it's hard to breathe

she's a part of me

she's burrowed herself

deeply into my soul

and life without her

is bleak

but i must stay strong

because the joy i get

from the notion of future

a future where we can see eachother

every day

that joy

that giddy excitement

it keeps me going

and i can't let

my bitterness

at the distance between us now

break the possibility of greatness

and the love we share between us

because love is nothing

if not brittle

I remember those days.

Back when I was younger and the world was still peaceful.

Now life seems colder, and I am too easily hurt.

Say what you want, sure I'm older, but now the world is just a pit of grey.

My wounds can no longer be healed by a mug of ginger tea.

And the happy innocence of youth has all been stolen away.

I'm a business owner, a self-made woman, a true queen. When people come into my store they look at the little chalkboard I have hanging over the dashboard and the fake little succulents at each table, and they close their eyes in line as lilting folk songs float in from the speakers above. "This is such a peaceful place," they say to me, before they go sprawl out at the tables with their sugarcane-sweetened ginger tea. "You must be so happy working here."

They don't know what I go through. Every morning at 4 AM I'm stewing that ginger tea in a massive pot while I grind the coffee beans with my other hand and scrub the floor down with my foot. I rewrite the entire menu by hand because my four-year-old son decided to play with the chalk, which only makes sense because it's the weekend and his dad is out of town with his latest fling. I run down to Lowe's and pray that they still have leftover succulents in the garden section because some sensory-deprived college kid yesterday pulled all the leaves off of the one at Table 9. And most of the day, with the constant sound traffic of whirring machines and smoke detectors and kids talking and my sneakers squeaking across the wet tile, I can never hear Bon Iver or the Lumineers over it.

They all see the peace, but they don't see how much it hurts to make it.

I test my ceramic mug with my hand to see if my tea has cooled down enough for me to drink. Nope, too hot. I decided on ginger tea tonight. Maybe the spices will awaken something in me, help bring my motivation out of its apathetic slumber. Having tea requires planning, though, and sometimes it’s more planning than I care to deal with. You have to wait for the water to boil, wait for the teabag to brew, wait for the tea to cool down enough to drink, but maybe there’s a lesson there. Maybe it’s meant to slow me down, to teach me patience before enjoyment. I may be wrong, but I think the ancient art of brewing tea is supposed to be a peaceful practice of reverance. Perhaps I've been doing it wrong all these years! I read the teabag and it says, “The mind is energy: regulate it.” I chuckle and think, "if only I could." I haven't felt much energy in my mind lately, or rather, anywhere in my body. I have recently moved back to my hometown where I experienced a lot of hurt and trauma. It feels like my brain is trying to protect itself from old memories by going into a power-saving mode. Lately, I've been incapable of producing meaningful thoughts or anything of substance because I feel too numb. So yeah, thanks teabag, but I don’t feel like it’s that simple for me right now.

Every night when moonie hits her peak,

I drown my hurt and sorrows in cups of

steaming hot almond milk, ginger and honey.

Light blonde swirls hipnotizing me into

the deepest, most peaceful trans.

With every sip, my day slips,

further and further away.

Until I become whole once again.

Ginger tea. Soothing and a peaceful aroma with a golden glow to ease the pain. The drumming along sore muscles and the sour taset of blood that lingered on the tongue. The icy fingers that clasped around hurt hearts and strained nerves, gently bending them into a elegant dip while dancing on the warm liquid of ginger tea.

The ginger taste of tea lingered in the dark, the aroma wafted through the peaceful sleeping city. I am standing at the window with hot tea with ginger flavor, I miss you, my lord, for our peaceful feasts, it hurts me now to remember, not to return from what it hurts and only ginger tea warms the soul and your peaceful look blocks the pain outward.

Amy took a deep breath before turning the doorknob and slowly entering the room, a mug of milky tea in her hands: "Hey babe, brought you some tea". She said cheerfully, a smile on her face. She set the mug down on the bedside table and took a seat beside the bed, she took a look at Jess's comatose body and sighed: "babe come on, it's been three days". She lamented before carefully taking Jess's had, lacing their fingers together: "I know the tea here's not up to much, but when we get you home I can make it the way you like can't I"? "Jess, please babe squeeze my hand, let me know you're still there, please". She could feel tears slipping down her face but she quickly wiped them away with her free hand: "sorry, I promised you I wouldn't cry, that I'd be strong for when you wake up because you are going to wake up, I know you are". She carefully lifted Jess's hand to her lips and kissed it, then looked over at the macheins still beeping away, she gave a small smile and whispered: "I know you're gonna be ok". A few silent moments passed between them Amy took time stroking Jess's thick ginger hair while the machine's bleeped on in the background, she looked so peaceful but this was far from a peaceful situation: "your mum's on her way". Amy finally spoke up again: "I told her you'd be ok but that you'd love to see her, if this is you punishing me it's working". She nodded her voice cracking again: "it's really, really working". Amy gave another sigh before continuing: "I'm sorry about what I said, you know I didn't mean it don't you"? "Of course I need you you're my best friend, we're a team you and me, always have been". She shakes her head contemplativly: "this is all Eric's fault, if he hadn't gotten in the way then"- she broke off, a lump forming in her throat: "I'm so sorry I let him hurt you, I'm so sorry I wasn't there, but from the bottom of my heart I swear I'll never let him near you again, I don't care what you or anyone else says, he is not come anywhere near you ever again". She let the tears fall then, a river slowly cascading down her face: "I'm gonna protect you better, do more, we're not gonna fall out over it, especially now you've seen what he's capable of, I just need you to wake up so I can tell you all this in person, so I can keep you safe". She sniffs hard, trying to compose herself: "I love you Jess". That's when she felt it, a squeeze, not one of thoes weak, gentle squeezes that barely register, this was a furvent, hopeful squeeze, like Jess had heard every word and was in full agreement, Amy shot up exitidly, peering over at her: "Jess"? "Jess"? "Can you hear me"? She asked. Jess gave another strong squeeze as she tried to open her eyes, Amy let out an exited laugh: "oh my gosh, I knew it, I knew you'd be ok, come on open your eyes". Jess's eyes slowly opened and she blinked a few times, adjusting her eyes to her surroundings, they landed on Amy's beaming face: "Jess, babe I've missed you so much".