Is this estrangement self-imposed
or does my awkward rapture
set me aside?
More engaged in recording nature
than in ordinary banter –
find the portal to human interaction
passing questionable
throngs focus on such peculiarities
while I attempt sketching relations
trees akin to cousins,
and birds happily possessing my soul
we are escapees –
alternate beings
charged with renewal.
(Sketch my own)
September is fair time here in Southwestern Ontario. From small town get togethers, to big city exhibitions. Who doesn’t like a fair?
Upgrading –
setting new standards
learning anew
Kin/ heritage
pursues me –
influence
and legacy
Timid concerning
the unspoken
the understated
Seduction courts
a response –
I am flush with possibility
basking in attention
But God is calling me home –
reminds me of mortality
humbles me in situ
I am already engaged
passion in the moment
dalliances redundant
(Self portrait created blind with acrylic paint and palette knife)
Illness has built
the bricks that bind
has birthed this wall
I am postnataly withdrawn.
If I emerge
it will be armed –
sharp comebacks
I am curious
about the caring
my rage running deep
Can you see it’s outlines –
zones broken out
of the practical
Quieting the hurt?
(Image AI generated)
I hear my mother’s voice
questioning my intentions
certain I’m not doing it right
this wifely thing
I’ll be abandoned, surely –
it all rests on a string for her –
if dinner isn’t on the table at 4:38
or the beds are not made right away
or the laundry basket, unfolded,
remains in sight –
then who blames the man
for leaving.
Six generations now
I’ve witnessed women fighting
for equality, for recognition
and still the old guard holds on
And now politicians –
men with loose jowled egos
and paunchy stances –
and so-called religious leaders
call for a retraction –
women’s lives at stake
Who will lobby for women’s rights
when the female voice is silenced
needs carefully tucked away
so as not to raise ire in her mate?
Weighed down by complications –
you see, the amount of baggage
I carry surpasses my storage
capacity; and despite attempts
to simplify, paranoia tends to
my bathroom routines, and
no amount of persuasion can
appease her suspicions; and
the majority of my contents
have been accumulated by
my father’s business, and not
really mine to unload, although
I try, his tyranny still haunts me;
and well, anything new that I
start has to be protected from
the familial bouts of insanity;
and that is why I just want to
pack my bags and get out of
here, and be a mother to my
children; but it’s complicated.
(Art my own)
One Woman's Quest 