I know that abyss –
swallowed up as I was
punch-drunk on darkness
Bled as I emerged,
each reach a scrape –
there was release too
Revived now, I honour
that passage, recognize
the making of a woman.
(Making of a Woman first appeared here, December 2021. Image: self portrait in ink)
Hunger churning,
excitement building,
heart expanding…
Breathing the thrill,
opening to possibility,
Spirit revealing…
Receiving blessings,
clarifying vision,
will engaging
Trusting process,
believing in self,
creativity soaring
Grounding in reality,
feeling the stir-
change is happening.
(Image my own)
To lounge
perched oblivious
nature vs domesticity
decision in limbo
I call upon the rains
pray for cleansing
this too-worn skin
eager to shed
I welcome the Divine
sweet messages
of birdsong
serenading
It’s fear that draws me
away from Nature’s charm
a creeping compulsion
that I don’t belong
I am hungry
swallow my prayers whole
wallow in the acidic burn
of betrayal’s ashes
I am greedy in my misery
will stuff myself
with expectation
and forgo pleasure
What am I but baggage?
A burden
locked in my shame
A side show
whose lethargy renders me
incompetent
Illness is a thief
have lost what is sacred
choking on the feathers
of the song that once fed me.
Passion the cloth
that contains me
Time a transformer
if only I surrender
I’ll grow a new skin
confident and fearsome
am I not afterall
reptilian born?
(Art my own)
Odd, this gift of solitude. Perched canal side, I affirm my connection to the earth, and offer thanks. Late afternoon sun casts a glow on the foliage across the way, lighting up the mirror-still water. Vibrant reflections.
Two winters ago, I fought to breathe as temperatures fell below zero. Impassible walkways trapped me indoors. Depression fought for possession. Hope struggles in imposed isolation.
“There are no absolutes in life,” a professor once told me, and I think of that now –
how just when it feels as if one sentence has been handed down, sealed, an opening appears. I am fortunate, savour the moment.
Heron’s watchful stride
invites reflection, respect –
Winter’s solitude.
(Image my own.)
Paddle to the edge –
life has falling off points, and
I am curious –
Defy fear and leap, or freeze?
Faith armours brave, takes a chance.
(Image mine)
Wrapped in reptilian attire, change
climbs aboard my well-intentioned scheme
like a boa constrictor – disarming me
I am more inconvenienced than repulsed –
after all, snake is my power animal,
Or so the seer said…many years ago
Days when I would wear the scaly
comportment of power – invite
transformation- my essence a seeker
But I am trying to settle here –
embrace age and its complications
and yet the serpent persists
Sibilance insisting on co-navigation-
and what will be the outcome, I wonder
if I were to surrender to such a calling?
Change does not heed our fears,
our ego-driven agendas…
It bears its fangs and taunts
I exaggerate the threat, of course-
imagine being consumed or suffocated –
disregard the potential for healing
Have no time for reflection or pause –
the course is already set –
I hold on and feign control
(Art my own)
Teach me reverence;
I am losing ground
Children adulting,
mothering in a void
Teach me acceptance
disability’s waters flood
I am in the margins,
an afterthought…
I concede life changes
release control…
Passion begs an outlet;
I am worn…
And I am open…
Teach me.
(Teach Me first appeared here January 2020. Edited for this edition. Art my own)
Not a team player,
Change likes to spike the ball –
first to the net, a master
derailing strategy
I sit on the sidelines –
age having dulled reflexes –
amused that I ever thought
I could beat such an opponent.
(Image my own)
A soft-sided,
well worn,
briefcase
slouches
in a closet
One side agape,
a red lanyard
stuffed inside –
occupational identity
A row of black, brown, and gray pumps
line up beside it – a thin layer of dust
betraying idleness.
Silent, unblinking,
a television recedes
into the wall,
flanked on either side
by smiling images –
shadows of nostalgia.
Stacks of books
and journals
rumour
a scholarly mind.
The woman,
to whom all these trivialities
once had relevance
is no longer here.
She has been called to another purpose.
(Originally written in 2014, The Pilgrimage strives to help me understand the purpose behind losing all to illness. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 