You stop running.
Not dramatically—
just enough
that the noise overlooks you.
For a liminal moment
nothing knows what to do.
Then sensually—
like dust remembering gravity—
the world begins to arrange itself
around the fact of you.
Conversations tilt your way.
Surprises enter your orbit.
Time softens its angles.
You did not conquer anything.
You simply stayed.
And life, feral and curious,
circled back
to see what kind of gravity
you were.
I write primarily to support my small business, christinaelaine.com
I am a somatic coach, writer, and curriculum creator writing about the interior life of modern relating, weekly on Medium & Substack. I also host interviews on YouTube.
Thank you for this beautiful poem that reminded me of Newton's law of gravitation which says every object in the universe attracts every other object with a force called gravity. In my own life I fell in love and married a beautiful woman with an elliptical orbit. We had children like stars that fall to earth too. And like Halley's comet she showed up every 75 years (in truth more regular than that) and was brilliant, present, visible, only to shoot off on her longer journeys without me or the boys. I did not have enough gravity to pull her in, but she knew where I was. Looking at it this way, the grief cannot accumlate even though we parted for good. I would like to submit some stories/poems to your Medium male story platform, (It has a wonderful name I forget right now) but I am not a member of Medium. What do you suggest. My email is wedgeseeds@gmail.com Namaste. TW
Wow, beautifluly written! It caused me to tear up
...And Life, feral and curious, circled back...
Thank you😎