39 Years

It took me till I was almost thirty-nine to realize
That these are
Man crushing
Lady loving
They hugging
Thighs
That we were strong, if a bit full of ourselves
That we kept some good books on these dusty old shelves
And it took me 39 years to see the perfection in your face
The lines of laughter, of worry, of your journey through time and space
The mystical wonder that hides beneath your eyelids and in the folds of your skin
The way your eyeballs see through me, and at the same time deep within
It took close to 39 years to learn what my soul really needs
A quiet existence just beneath the layer of storms and WiFi feeds
And when I look back and review
looking at all of the things we would do
Just to survive and keep going along
Just to give us a break from these sad-sad songs
I feel proud of who we were and who we are now
We made it through the shitstorm, and I’ll never know how
It took me just shy of 39 years
To release those tears
To vanquish those fears
To find comfort in the face of goodbyes
To find solace when I catch your eyes
To read the cards and the stars at the perfect time on the perfect day
To find exactly the words that I hope you’ll see, that I needed to say.
💕leah r. chatterjee

📸 Photo credit: IG: @leslie.l.angel; me in Idaho, summer of 2005

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Sequential Dream: Chapter 2

The Muses of the Cosmos

The second dream I find myself in the same conference room. The conversation has become more heated, more tense, more urgency in the tones. Again I followed the conversation by reading the numbers streaming in a hologram above the oval table.

This time it seemed there was a major disagreement over the next steps to be taken to deal with the “Earth Problem.” There was quite a lot of support for wiping humans out, and starting over. Again, the conversation turned to Mars, and once more this idea was tossed out.

Something new that was revealed this time was why earth humans were such an important part of their cosmic story. There were two factors. The first was the overall problem they were facing: the multiverse was expanding too quickly, and at some point this would wreak havoc on all of the dimensions in each universe. I didn’t understand a lot of the science being talked about, but basically the fear was that the fabric of time and space and everything that holds our worlds and matter together would be ripped apart. Earth humans factored in because we alone have the gift of artistic creativity, the gift of the “muse,” as they kept calling it. Our creativity would help lead to the solution of preventing this ripping apart of our dimensions.

I remember feeling this was really interesting, especially since I have been feeling awfully down on humans lately. It was nice to hear that there was something special about us, that we are needed in the universe.

Towards the end of this meeting, the conclusion seemed to be that they would send in a large number of “helpers,” and their task would be to help accelerate our social evolution, and bring about peace and advanced ethics. A big part of their mission would be to advance climate change, and “take care of those resisting evolution.”

So that’s where we leave off for now….

–Leah R. Chatterjee

Mars Directing

Happy Sun in Cancer!

Act One (it’s not very fun)

Scorpion stinger straight to my third eye

Eight weeks of exploring all of my ugliest sides

Hope, magic, faith: exit slowly stage right

Act two (insomnia, you fool!)

Hyperactive Brain & Sleepless nights: enter stage right

Feeling frazzled, spent, generally bereft

Mars Direct: enter swiftly stage left!

Act 3 (it somehow aligns magically)

Leah wakes up, as if out of a murky dream

Quiet for days, she sets free every stitch from the tattered seam

Planets, Sun, Moon, Family, Friends (near and far), Soulmates, Stars, and meteorites that appear to fall:

Enter both sides of the stage for a cosmic curtain call!

–Leah Ruthe Chatterjee 

Thoughts from the cocoon

When my voice cracks like ice hitting tepid water,
Let it break like waves, crashing into only rocks and sand

When my heart bursts with rage,
A tiny atom splitting inside of my chest,
Let it burn out quickly and smoulder into love

When the tears begin to fall and flood, as though they may never stop,
Let them water the dry ground beneath me till the seeds begin to sprout.

When my hands cover my ears to muffle the wretched sounds,
Let my fingers slightly part to let in the songs I need to hear

And when I find my voice again to speak,
When the words I’ve been searching for across continents are finally found…
Let them be heard.

–Leah Chatterjee

Rambling on returning to DCA (not a poem 😉)

I thought I would miss this place when I picked everything up and moved across the country.
I was so sure that I would ache for my childhood home–haunted by both memories and actual ghosts.
It has only been six months since I left, so returning shouldn’t seem so intense.
I have forgotten so much in such a short time–which roads lead to which places, where the Indian grocery store is, how to navigate a car in a sea of angry northern Virginian drivers…
I do not miss this energy, find myself longing for my new home–the Central Oregon high desert air, the mountains around every corner, the smell of ponderosa pines…
I expected to shed some tears driving by my childhood home–feel some sort of sadness at seeing the deck stripped away, trees uprooted, transformations underway…
Surely seeing the spot where my brother and I played on a swing set for hours would stir something deep down at my core?
Yet I felt nothing but that old haunting–memories and actual ghosts, and nothing more.
What brought the tears tumbling down finally?
I saw one of my best friend’s mother, and her hug just tugged it all out.
I do not miss this place, but somehow that hug sank it in.
The Holladays and Hosseinis, the Bakers and the Miskes,
are not just a few minutes away any more.
The family we built here–that is what I miss, and the one thing missing in my new home.
I know that that will come (has already begun),
and I know that these people I miss are so deeply imbedded in my heart and connected to my soul–well they are that close to me wherever my body goes.
It just really hit me today–I do not miss this place, but how strange that the Holladay family is no longer a five minute walk away!
—
Leah Chatterjee

Under an Aries Moon

I feel like leaving my body
Over and over again
I’m writhing and wriggling inside of here
You’re just a memory already
An imprint on my mind
and a bruise on my thigh
Already flittering off to someone new
Meanwhile…
I am left alone with no choices
Sober and stuck
Following the electric currents in my brain
Until I find my way out of you and back to me
I’m in the forest again
Feeling my way through
Forced to relive every prick I ever suffered or inflicted
Because there’s nowhere left to sweep it under
The rugs have all unraveled
And I am sober and stuck
No phoenix here
Will rise reborn from these ashes
Just a memory of the flame
On the insides of my eyelids
And the knowing
Knowing I will heal again
After I have ripped myself apart
Till there is nothing but muscle and bone
I will heal again
I won’t forget in the arms of another
Or escape to the bottom of a bottle
But I will heal over and over again
Become somebody new over and over again
And you might recognize my face
The bones don’t seem to change
But I am leaving my body over and over again
And my soul won’t be the same
If you ever see me again
I won’t be the same
I am
Sober and stuck with myself
Under an Aries moon.
—
Leah Ruthe Chatterjee

Zzzzzzzz

What if all you had said was true
and I really was madly in love with you?
Would your harsh words still come out
and would your intelligence crumble down
like some silly creative sound
just jumbled on the ground
Would your syllables still matter
before, during, even after

What if all you had said was true
and the world really did revolve around you
and you really were important and proud
instead of just uneducatedly loud
Would my heart still break in two
just at the mere thought of you?
and would the angels all fall down
every time your lips curved to frown

What if all of your stories came true
and I really was in love with you
and everything you touched was gold
and your beauty was too much to behold
Would the birds come settle down
and perch upon the frozen ground
and would all of the world’s precious gravity
collapse in the wake of your presence’s brevity

I wonder if all that you said was true
what would actually happen to you
Would you finally break in two
and split up all that you do
What if I could hold all of your words in one hand
and smash them into a ball
All of your lies and your misspelling and plans
I could throw against a wall
Would you suddenly disappear
if all that you uttered became so clear
would you have to start from the beginning
to finally see what you haven’t been winning

I wonder what would happen to you
if all of your lies overnight became true…

–leah ruthe

twenty-four

I still remember the blood sometimes

but I only see and feel it in my dreams

I can still hear your music playing

even behind my wrenching screams

Twenty-four was three lifetimes ago

before I knew about pain

My knuckles knew before I did

that I would never be the same

I still have dreams about loving you

they just keep on replaying

an imprint of you that stays in my soul

a firmly rooted tree that is always swaying

And though I know that you will never be

the way you were that time

I won’t forget the rocks by the river

that night that you were mine

And while I’ll always move forward

to wherever I’m headed to

I will never fully forget

or truly let go of you.

—

leah r. chatterjee

Still with the ponies

Counting my breaths like counting sheep
But I don’t find sleep
I find you instead
still in my head
I’m still just the crazy woman who talks about ponies
you’re missing the point, I am calling all phonies
In my mind you are all just one and the same
with a singular name
just playing a game
And my mantra became:
I am too old for this
I’m too old for this
I am changing it back to the first
remind myself of the original verse
You’re all smiles and lies
just circling flies
showed me the very worst way to get wise
But I’m bringing it back to the ponies
calling all phonies
Letting go of being too tired for this
I’m so tired of this
Like your poison kiss
I’m in touch with it
taking out my shovel
and clearing out bullshit
It’s not about you anymore
not about how I’m sore
how I’m constantly looking for more
I’m content with peace
with honest belief
lining my heart with the warmest fleece
I’ll always bring it back to the ponies
it’s a good strategy for calling out phonies
people with ulterior motives and plans
it’s been happening now for several lifespans
Where did all of the sincerity go?
How do I close that proverbial window?
The same way I close my eyes and I suddenly know:
This is why I always bring it back to the ponies
they separate the beauty from the utter phonies
Everything in my life now is good and true
I’ve let go of everything save the memory of you
I learned my lessons in the hardest ways
and now I lean back and watch the willow as it sways
branches that nearly sweep the ground
look at all of the shining light we’ve found
small little steps that became giant leaps
I am no longer counting sheep
I’m just breathing in and exhaling doubt
clearing everything extraneous out
Remember when you asked “what’s the deal with the ponies?”
I didn’t know then that you walked with the phonies
My mantra can’t be “I’m too old for this”
with a boo and a hiss
it’s a bitter bliss
Instead I’m going to keep staring at the stars and the moon
keep watching all of my friends like flowers bloom
try to have a moment of peace by high noon
And you can think I’m crazy
but that’s just lazy
the truth is that my surface has not been scratched
and only a tiny fraction of my thoughts have hatched
and every time you wince when you hear the word “pony”
just remember it’s because you’re a big old phony.
I am just lying here counting my breaths like sheep
and by the end of it I will find more than sleep
I’ll find the beginnings of a beautiful peace
find comfort in the most simple belief
that if I try to put love up on the shelf
I will miss out on the good in everything else
So keep counting sheep
till they fade into sleep
and wake up in a life
that was once but a dream.
—
leah ruthe