Category: adversity

Rebirthing

It came in the peak of summer
that most optimistic time, when
sunshine equates with health
and bodies glow with exertion
fit and in their prime – it came

with all the fury of a winter blast
harsh and cold and unyielding –
wrestling me from my complacency
annihilating vibrancy, self-definition
de-leafed, rendering me raw, exposed.

I clung to the darkness, blanketed
against the harshness of light,
the impossibility of sound, or scent –
was de-shelled, ungrounded, ravaged
by volatile nerves and misfiring impulses

praying for the certainty of death…
but it is spring that follows winter
and in time, restlessness set in –
the dogged whine of hope willing
my mind to stretch, my body to try

spirit, tired of withdrawal, pushed
against the wall of dysfunction,
bolstered by a shifting acceptance
found roots in an unspoken faith
and I felt possibility, like a tiny sprout

reaching for the sunshine,
ventured out of my cocoon –
still alive! Redefining purpose –
still precarious, highly vulnerable
but optimistic for the return of summer.

(Rebirthing first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II March, 2018. Image my own)

Alchemy

Searching for the alchemy
to transform this chaos –
Do they understand depravity,
those who dwell in exurbs,
blinded by their own opulence?

Children are dying, pawns
in a political sham – I know
we’re tired, but now is not
the time to sleep.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image mine)

Distance

Even in togetherness there is distance.

I am alone.

A central figure, distracted,
aiming for contact –
unable to eviscerate control –
repeatedly producing a singular confusion.

Define success
Is it the one on the top,
the know-it-all,
or are these the mechanisms
of estrangement?

I am unable to discern-
stability never more than a dalliance.

The pavement ahead whispers
promises of a sense of belonging…
Can I tolerate the quest?

Unfulfilled, I am protective
fear off-shoots of depression,
shield tender inner places…

Bring on change, there are others
watching, looking to me
as an example.

I can strive
on their behalf

Never alone.

Always distances to cross.

(Distance first appeared here February, 2017. Image my own)

The Opposite of Confrontation

Withdrawal does not negate
the duplicity of the situation
I am at once compliant
and unruly – conflicted

I do what I can to hush
the rule-breaker, amuse
her with trivial activities
but she is vociferous

Disapproval justify’s itself
with personal anecdotes,
as if judgement is queen
only fuelling righteous rage

I attempt to retreat further
but the beastly turmoil
has grown wings –
consequences knocking

Try as I might to swat it away
my excuses are flimsy,
I am without substantial argument –
best to open the door and let it out.

(Image my own)

Strategy

One more train
and she’d be away
far enough
to lose him

Scavenged in her bag
searching for a ticket
and courage…
could use a dose of courage

Thought of her mother
how torn up she’d be;
of her sister, confined
to long-term care

Call for boarding
and a decision –
neck smarting from
last confrontation

He wielded his hands
like weapons. his words
like knives – her heart
a mass of bruises

What choice did she have?
Surely staying meant death,
but could she run forever?
Rage found new footing

Picked up her bag
hustled out of the station
Why should one man destroy her –
She needed a better strategy.

(Image my own)

Shoebox Dreams

A simple shoebox, repurposed
with plastered images of dreams –
paper affirmations of aspirations –
shelved and forgotten, its contents

snapshots, faded and torn, remnants
of another time, a different future –
captured when potential was prime
and possibility untainted by illness

This one was retirement – a supposed
celebration – but note how the colour
has drained the cracks obliterating
pride of accomplishment; and notice

how this one crumbles to the touch –
the fragments dissipating even as
my life has dissipated, the image
lost before memory resurfaces, so

much loss when circumstance dictates
direction, overpowers will, and plans
like snowflakes, vanish in the heat
of reality – pain and insult burning

But wait…this one looks promising –
the edges only slightly torn, the image
discernible – could it be that there is
hope yet – a future author I might be?

That’s the thing about times to come,
we fill them with imaginings, and pray,
our hope, like balloons set free in a sea
of unforeseen challenges, and seldom

does the end result reflect projected
plotting, and yet, there is power in
the dreaming, and so I’ll replace the old
with new photographs to store away.

(This is a rerun of a rerun. Still resonates. Image my own)

Sorry

Sorry –
so much inadequacy
bundled into one word
as if five letters
can convey
depths of regret,
shock, dismay

Seems I am the spark
to your lighter fluid –
unintentional, I swear

Still reeling
from the aftermath
of the explosion

Attempting to
deconstruct the
formula –
precautionary

I am sorry –
that you are enraged,
that you are so obviously disappointed
that you are consumed with resentment –
except, it is sadness, not regret that I feel.

I cannot own this,
was always honest,
forthright,
did not feed your expectations

Besides,
learned long ago –
we don’t have the power
to make anyone
feel anything
least of all,
sorry.

So I’m not sorry,
but maybe
if you could just tell me,
give me an inkling
of what you might need,
I can help us out of this hole.

(Sorry first appeared here 2018. Image my own)

Cryptic

Is the writing on the wall so cryptic?
Graphic images depict rage
flames of dissonance
young men bleeding at their own hands
compassion incapacitated.

A sad awakening
for a society fixated
on rights and privileges,
dominating culture
excluding the nurture
of humanity,
or preservation of life.

How can we continue
to closet our children’s pain –
their vitality oozing –
hopelessly abandoned
by morality’s shelter?

It is the wall,
not the spatters
of blood upon it,
which needs amending –
adolescent minds too tender
to wade through
the cryptic priorities –
messages divided.

(Cryptic first appeared here May 2018. Edited here. Image my own.)