So Stay
In the last semester of my Master of Social Work program I petitioned to have a black & white film photography course count toward my degree requirements. During that semester I spent more time taking pictures and in the dark room than doing anything else. Our final project of the semester was to explore a question we came up with and present a body of work from that exploration. I chose to consider the push and pull I have felt over staying in or leaving St. Louis.
When I began this project I was still trying to figure out what I would be doing post-graduation and where I would be so I started by asking: “why stay?” With each additional year I live in St. Louis I think about what it means to have ping-ponged back and forth here so many times. Why I came here, why I’ve left, why I stay. As I started my project, my question quickly changed from “why stay?” to “what’s here?” It became less about convincing myself of something and more about actually seeing the parts of my life here that make me love it so much.
you’ve gone
you’ve run
you’ve hid
you’ve explored
you’ve sought
you’ve expanded
you’ve said a lot of goodbyes
it doesn’t mean you’re good at it
sometimes, adventure is another word for avoidance
sometimes, stillness is mistaken for regret of not going
but what happens when you are no longer
pinned to this place and choose to remain?
when the litany of ever-changing addresses no longer sings
a sweet tune
when the fear of being here is really
a fear of being known
when the anxiety of transition is admitted to be
an anxiety justified by transition
-some questions are hard to hear under all that momentum-
and what if we think confusion desires an answer
when all it’s asking for is a companion
or patience
or an unfolding
or time
rilke says to ripen until it’s real
how about letting go of your love affair
to see what sparkles on the underside of over and over
how about paying homage
while you’re still there
how about participating
in the way only familiarity can bring
who knew tenderness could take so long?
come, undress yourself before this place and who you are known to be
walk the same paths no longer to look but rather to see
stop long enough for the sediment to settle
you might just learn what color the water truly is
you might just find you can breathe under it
So Stay
The poem above was written as the latest installment in a series that started when I first considered what a desire to go can be inspired by. Going, returning, and staying are parts of a cycle that has interested me for years. The two poems below consider the going and returning parts of the cycle.
So Go
Have you ever found yourself driving
just to be in motion?
You got in the car just to be moving
to remind yourself
that you’re not a sessile being rooted to the places you’ve been.
But the wheels turning on the road offer only so much comfort
until you realize
it has to be your feet hitting the ground.
Nothing between you and the earth that has born you
your feet slap the sidewalk
and the earth pushes back, pushes you forward.
So you go.
You’re running from the devil.
You’re chasing sunsets.
You’re on your way.
You go because you have to
because they said you never would
because you shouldn’t
because you want to see what will happen
because you’re afraid to stay behind
because you can
It doesn’t matter why
just that you do
just that you go
and don’t care if
you never get there
So Return
Return to the place that birthed your soul
that hunger
for more
for maybe
for what if
set down your sore, tired, and weary self
laden with stories
of adventures
beyond
beyond the recognition and recollections
of those
who once travelled or meant to but were caught working
when they could have been dreaming
come back to remember from whence you sprung forth
to gather your thoughts and musings
in notebooks
write it all down
remember the name of that gas station that didn't sell gas
and only bacon cheeseburgers
just because
those details are precious and give shape to the big moments
you're different
you're new
your next adventure was one you couldn't even have imagined without the last
you're back
for a time
before
you must return
to your home
to
yourself
to the next thing that tells you to go
