Today the earth held me
while I danced to the sound of drums
while I hiked through the still of winter
while I rounded breath through body
Today there was no ending
Only beginning, again and again
As the earth held me tight
Tomorrow, a promise on the cusp
A feeling of being adrift at sea – maybe more like trapped at sea. lost and
nearly dead in fact.
calm, serene undertones, like waves lapping against the slender bit of reality
I’m clinging to,
beautiful sunshine now a relentless glare and I have a delirious awareness of
my impending death.
a faint memory sings
through the fog of life
of a little girl of 5, walking
around the neighborhood
pulling a red flyer wagon
in which sat rusty cans
of Folgers, packed with
hard Missouri clay and
scrawny twigs, each the
start of a mighty oak –
her sales pitch that while
they were not much to look at,
each held a promise of great
shelter in the determined jab
skyward. a bit like the girl
herself, a thin dirty child
of no consequence.
I think it’s just me.
difference as a point of separation
then it turns out it’s everyone and
I feel empowered by knowledge
to a point.
and then I start to feel like
I really just want to be alone again
I don’t want to be part of,
I want to be separate from:
my own, not #metoo
in a way that may not make sense
but seems right anyway.
Sometimes I get carried away and think my life belongs to me.
I forget momentarily that I am someone’s mother, manager, employer, pet owner or coworker – and that I have a Pavlovian response to their needs and desires.
Other people’s needs, the dog’s schedule, my job, my incessant guilt, the sheer fatigue at it all – these are the things that stop me and hold me in place.
Oh, and the enormity of all my failings and flaws and imperfections.
I hold myself in total self-inflicted paralysis.
I become an internet astronaut, an explorer of the World Wide Web – reading about everything I don’t dare do or see or taste or experience – all of which can be wedged between everyone else’s stuff.
I rationalize these imagined restraints on my alleged life until they seem so real that there is no other choice.
I seek temporary relief in the form of randomly scheduled facials, erratically timed trips to the gym and the occasional new top.
But it’s not enough.
I am: never enough.
I am spinning
literally, going nowhere on a bicycle
in a hot and dark room
that is nevertheless fully temperature controlled
filled with people I do not want to know
I don’t even necessarily enjoy the music
and I think: I am suited to this existence
the charade of self awareness cloaked in hard work and sweat
the facade of movement without any discernible progress
ensconced in a space shut off from the real world
left to chant catchy, empty mantras and nothing more
paying to be part of something for which I harbor a certain disdain
I pretend at reformation, registering calories burned
while the world burns too and
everything else stays exactly the same.
she was sitting, impotent
in her car, when it struck her –
Sisyphus was probably an
extreme commuter, too.
in all likelihood, he lived around
the corner from her
and drove a slightly battered
with political stickers jammed
next to peeling sports decals and
a cutesy stick figure rendering of
his nuclear family unit:
wife Merope, sons Glaucus,
Ornytion, Almus and Thersander
– and a wobbly circle representing
the family’s pet boulder
no doubt, he traveled the
same curvy parkways she
traversed, the ones that flooded
from slight rains and
seemed only to veer
directly into the path of
bright sunshine at all times
of the year – a preternatural stonehenge.
he was surely the man
weaving across every
lane but never moving ahead
as she crawled forward,
the miles clicking
but the minutes
the GPS not really
taking either of them
any closer to
their final destination
always looking out
from the inside of my life
the world beckons
I want to have
to say. To you.
An unraveled thread
to hold you
when it. Breaks. I
lose a place:
For my heart
to be held
and safely bared.