In the span of a few hours, I have watched the end of my study abroad experience approach far more rapidly than I ever could have predicted. I don't have the words right now to explain the pain or the devastation I'm feeling, but I wrote a poem a week ago — when I was on the beautiful, unforgettable Writers' Retreat, blissfully ignorant that any of this would be happening — that I'd like to share for the occassion. I am leaving Ireland in a matter of days, but here is a poem about staying. It's what I can offer, and I think it's important.
I. TO STAY
alive i have been
china — careful
placement of expression, precise
edges clean. i swallow sharp
bites, cliff faces plunging neatly
under my toes. this
is acceptable. i am typical.
there will be no miracles
here. cliff faces
crumble before i step back, before someone
pull me back —
if i see warning
signs will i heed them. sometimes the choice
to step back is more
painful than falling.
to stay alive i have been cold
machine in crying
wind, toes blue within boots, laughter
that carries
me across glass and lifts me
above the storm. please can you
quiet down you are being so
annoying disruptive please
shut up i have asked you
nicely. sometimes the laughter hurts
more than the reaction and i am learning
to flee toward both. broken
skin shelters warmer.
breathe once — smoke
in, hold fire. let burn, let
singe, no fleeing i have asked you
nicely. breathe twice. ash
out. wipe away with stinging
hands to rid the outside of evidence.
sometimes to stay alive hurts
more than the falling but i
am china armor with paper
sword and i shatter
on landing. i cannot rid
of my own evidence i am trying
to ask myself nicely please
stop the hurting. set flame
to the machine and warm
skin as it burns. i am tired
of the pain, the broken, the
cliff face the warning
signs i step past. maybe the miracle
is to enjoy the view. keep toes on
land. don't walk
too close.
II. TO STAY
here i have been
witness to open
skies and white water, leaned
out to open air and wide
smiles. in a painting i see myself
framed together
with the headland and think of my hair,
short strands i cut myself
just two nights ago as a way to fill
an hour of searing
time. here my hair remains
short but i look different
when the sea is behind me.
two nights ago is a searing i no longer
understand.
to distance
myself is possible in such
spaces but not in others, not those
to which i am rooted. i wish
the waves refused to turn when i am not
near but they are apathetic
to my existence. how can i convince
the world i want to stay
in it when the world will turn
without me. am i enough
impact net positive to remain
rooted am i net positive at all.
but staying
here i have been witness
to smiles in sun. open
joy, careless and reckless, something
of the self beyond the self maybe
to be happy isn't selfish.
each time i see the ocean i think someday
i will live in a place like this but i have to stay
alive to get there. someday cannot happen
if i am not alive for it if you are not
alive for it if you die
your voice dies with you, your words your
handwriting the way you tap your feet
when you listen to music meet me
at the coast. play me your songs
as we walk on the beach. write me
a letter in your hands.
it is not selfish to stay
alive just for the moments
that make you say god i am so
glad i didn't die when i wanted to.
the moments come
in waves. i stand. lean
out. try through darkness
to see them approaching.
April Bannister
<p>I am a second-year student from Saint Paul, Minnesota, studying English and Creative Writing at the University of Iowa. I enjoy writing across all genres, especially within the focus of mental health, and I hope that my words can inspire education and awareness on the subject. Outside of school, I can often be found rock climbing, running, and spending time with my dog.</p>
