Return to Sender

Writing has quite simply saved my life. When I was 16, I was on the verge of ending my life when I received a letter informing me that my first short story and illustration had been accepted for publication. When I was 39, and had just suffered through the death of my life partner, writing brought me back from the edge of the abyss once more. In fact, throughout my life writing has been a way for me to sort through my thoughts and feelings about things that are deeply meaningful to me. By putting these feelings into words I am able to look at immense emotions and understand them in a way that is not possible otherwise. And the act of writing allows me to actually feel the emotions I tend to keep bottled inside myself.

The writing group at Southwestern College has been a place where I can explore my thoughts and feelings through writing without judgment, but for the first time, in the company of other writers. I have found that as I follow the prompts each week, issues I need to address surface and I am free to dance among the verbal images that appear on the page. The act of sharing these words takes my writing experience to a new place of community that has been lacking in the past. While not necessarily therapeutic in intent, I find this process to be extremely therapeutic.

Issues that arise during discussion in classes often creep their way into our writing sessions and as I allow the words to channel onto the page I often see things that have been hidden to my conscious mind. Exploring the world poetically is to peak under the skirt of mundane life and discover hidden worlds of words, ripe for the plucking. Attending the writing group has become a ritual that is crucial to me on my path of self care and compassion and I am so very grateful for the words, community, and witnessing that takes place there. Much healing happens within the pages of these sacred words I write each week and by sharing these inner landscapes with the other members of the group, I am reminded that while each of us has an individual journey, we are still not alone. I am not alone. For the first time in my life, I have a group of others with whom I can share myself through words.

“Return to Sender” 

5/12/16

Life returned to me yesterday

while I was busy not living.

It bounced in 

through the unopened door – 

as lovers often do – 

without a care in the world.

Life looked me in the eye, 

and sized me up and down

before blithely bouncing

on down the road

to visit the next

unsuspecting 

penitent-in-waiting.

The envelope 

in which life visited

lies discarded

on the red shag carpet, 

a prefect mirror

for the red 

I had planned to spill

on its camouflaged fibers

later that day.

But how can one not follow, 

bouncing through open doors,

when life decides 

to come for a visit?

Suicide is a fleeting thought

that slips back into

the scarlet corners

of an unexamined motive,

blown away, 

(for now, at least)

in the trails and tailwind

of life that flies in, 

unaware that doing so

prolonged a life 

so hastily thought

to be discarded.

Next to the envelope

on the forest of red yarn

lies the contents of life 

and it simply said – 

“Your work has been accepted.”

If you are interested in joining the creative writing group at Southwestern College please contact Ann Filemyr.

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