Not Everything Is Defined by Age

As a child, I knew no limits, setting out on adventures with never a fear for how I’d find my way back home.

Now, nestled in my home, I limit myself to certainties, fearful of risks.

Some days, I wonder about that child, and how it would feel to wander freely, and it makes me smile.

The body may be hindered, but the imagination remains forever young.

(Post originally appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, May 2022)

Back Seat Only

I can’t remember a time
when elegance chose me
to sit in the front seat
ride along in style

She’d be clad in white
and I’m ever too messy
can’t control myself
might tarnish the upholstery

She’d want to go shopping
rings and jewels flashing
like Pretty Woman
after the haul

I’m second-hand
typically slink in and out
grabbing what I need and going
lest anyone see me – a disgrace

No, elegance does not choose me
moose built, ratty hair
likely forgot to wash my face
Class passes me by

But I’ll tell you this –
what I lack for on the outside
this heart is solid and sturdy
and I will not pass you by.

(Image my own)

Over It!

One day it’s so mild that I don’t bother with a coat, the next we wake up to snow on the ground. The plants pushing up through the soil seem a little more patient than me – as if they are humouring nature’s fickleness.

I’m ready for clear change.

A pair of finches just flew by, one chasing the other. Another sign of spring. Maybe I just need to follow their lead and ignore the blasted white stuff.

This collage says it all, don’t you think.

Present Distance

I’ve lived the fog of distance –
life’s highway a series of hills
destination without promise

Have learned that acceptance gains perspective,
that climates change, and hope sustains,
and that in the stillness dreams renew.

Now I travel quieter paths, appreciate
space, have surrendered to a slower pace –
certain that this too will change.

(image my own)

Of Trauma Born

Goodbyes tarnish
faith, like ashes
scattered

My heart grows dismissal,
craves a balm of connection
seeks quiet harbour

Remind me what it feels like to be safe
breath nurturing life,
love a rhythmic flow

In meditation
I reach for peace
imagine salvation

But this wayward chaos
unrestrained
cements me in doubt

Tainted intentions
I lift up to the Universe
a tempest without hope

My soul incubates malice
a child’s game when wounded
not encouraged by silver linings

Listening for healing threads
prolonging the letting go
sanctity remains untouchable

(Photo my own)

Relevance of Story

Stories have power. Parents, teachers, public speakers, and therapists understand that the secret to engaging an audience or connecting with others is through illustration: storytelling.

I see it in the eyes of the my grandchildren, who love to hear tales of family history.

I’ve seen in the eyes of students, when recognition and understanding light up.

I’ve seen in in the eyes of audiences, who tear up or laugh at the telling of a relevant anecdote.

I’ve seen it in the eyes of the wounded trying to make sense of their past: the craving for a story that offers validation.

Imagine a world where we are absent from stories. This is a reality for many, whose race, ethnicity, or beliefs excludes them from discourse.

Chimamanda Adichie says it best in her Ted Talk: The Danger of a Single Story.

Is This War?

“War is hell.  You can’t photograph a flying bullet, but you can capture genuine fear.”
– unknown

The bomb has dropped
control slips from our grasp

We pray for a parachute
for someone to pull the cord

numbers escalate,
lives plummet

We offer encouragement
isolated voices faltering

moment of impact imminent
the implosion inevitable

impact reverberates
responsibility moot.

(  Image my own.)