I would stand on my head,
call in the big leagues,
imagine fun, opportunity,
but constantly meet with
the wall of your limitations.
My desire is innocent – impish
maybe – dependable; hope to
create memorable moments,
but boredom is oppressive,
and you are shutting me out.
I am alone here, hoop jumping,
giving of myself, willing to take
ownership in this rejection play
but relationship is not one-sided
and this game piece is opting out.
Surrounded by the animated chatter of youth,
a mother piles food on plates, busies herself
with addressing individual needs, smiles warmly.
In another room, a woman lies lifeless, grieving
a life now passed, children gone, an absentee mate;
she is alone, feels the burden of her inadequacy.
I stand in the doorway between the two,
longing to join the reverie in one room,
unable to tear myself away from the other.
Would you like something to eat? I offer,
wanting to draw her her out of isolation,
but she turns away, claims to be dieting.
That’s not the right way to go about it…
her eyes are cold, dying, my words a lecture,
how can she ignore the succulent aromas?
Outside, the men gather, raising glasses
and voices, masculine camaraderie, content
to let the women do their thing – oblivious.
We could join the party, I offer, but she is
tired of parties, tired of small talk, tired of
it all. I am inclined to agree, have known futility.
I want to go back into the kitchen, forget
about her, but it’s too late; I’ve touched
her sorrow, cannot let go, am powerless.
Think I’ll go outside, air out my mind,
sit amongst the clueless, talk about
everything and nothing, deny responsibility.
I stand in the doorway between two women
one who finds purpose in service to others,
and one whose life has lost all meaning.
I stand in the doorway between the two,
and notice that the mother is no longer me,
and that woman in the bed has no future,
and suddenly realize that I have choices,
and that motherhood or empty-nester
are self-imposed definitions, irrelevant.
Whether to participate or not in life is my call
and not a reflection of how I feel about my body
or whether or not I am giving or doing enough.
I turn from that doorway and make a decision
to just walk away – the kitchen will always be
a place of vitality and the bedroom a refuge
and me, I will be outside enjoying a drink
and conversing about who knows what
and living, obligation-free, in the moment.
Rest; nap as often as you need,
life can be exhausting; store up.
Cry; let your feelings be known;
your voice is your saving grace.
Joy is a whole body experience,
immerse yourself in total delight.
Hold on to those who love you;
your survival depends on them.
See the world through new ideas;
you never know what thrills await.
Listen intently when others speak;
they will be your captive audience.
Imitate others; practice until you
have found your own expression.
Trust the process, living fully
in each moment; be present.
Honour the miracle of existence;
embrace the blessing that is you!
The world awaits, Little One.
While you slumber in your
watery cocoon, loving arms
ache to hold you, adoring eyes
long to behold your perfection.
You are a miracle, Baby Child.
The mother, whose body
has sustained you, craves
to smell your newborn essence;
a father is bursting with pride.
Fear not the process, Sweetness;
darkness will give over to light
and the chaos will subside, and
your lungs will embrace the air,
and you will find your voice.
You are promise, Darling Girl.
You are past, present, future;
revival of hope; an angel.
Hearts are ready to receive you,
and the meaning you bring to life.
Have faith, Precious Baby,
that this journey you embark upon
will be filled with love, and comfort
and support, and that the gift
of your being is a blessed thing.
Come home to us, Beloved.
So many are praying for
your safe passage, and I,
for one, already hold you dear,
my darling granddaughter.
Reminds me of home –
Dad’s drinking,
dressing up,
keeping up appearances;
a woman without a voice,
public persona
all important:
must disguise
private hell.
Daddy was driven
by money
and compulsions;
could not see
desperation in our eyes,
we were running away,
seeking our own solace
in forbidden places,
hell’s legacy.
An overboard existence
too many extravagances
none of them sticking
to the wounded places,
only pretense
mocking reality.
Keep a positive attitude,
Daddy like to say,
Good Lord will provide.
But hell casts
a long shadow,
bony fingers taunt
present scenarios
confuse past
with present,
cloud the future,
cannot erase
warped beginnings.
In anticipation of guests,
the hostess – always bent
on pleasing – carefully selects
the script, ascribes roles,
envisions an afternoon
of light repartee, peppered
with philosophical pondering –
satisfactory entertainment.
They’re just family, after all,
she tells herself, confident
in the outcome, fatally smug.
Crowd arriving, she fails
to read disinterest in the eyes,
politely attempts to orchestrate
interactions, while they cast about,
calculating, shunning protocols
of etiquette, dispersing in
an unsettling way, then returning,
savagely encircling their prey.
They’re just family, after all,
she tells herself, panic rising,
confusion overriding confidence.
Unprepared to defend herself –
bears no arms but the giving type –
she ducks, grasps, attempts
retreat from the onslaught
of vindictive agendas, but the wall
of stored grievances, spotlighting
a history of injustices, corners
her, hopelessness in its wake.
They’re just family, after all,
she tells herself, knowing
full well the legacy of pain.
It is friends, in the end,
who save her – a surefooted
cavalry, bearing swords of
understanding, compassion
their war cry – reigning in the
once-invited, now betraying
guests – objective hearts
demanding an end to the fray.
They’re just family, after all,
she tells them, tells herself,
composure a mere thread.
Tables turned, the offenders
now plead for forgiveness,
beg for help, pretend the slights
were unintentional, harmless,
expect their hostess to step
over the bloodied and slain bits
of herself, and with benevolence,
restore her love for them again.
They’re just family, after all,
she says weakly, the torn script
of her expectations scattered.
Been taking inventory,
gathering essentials,
craving nourishment,
coming up lacking –
cartoon version of a former self.
Spirituality, once fiery
now looms over me,
a stilted attempt to uplift –
redefinition of self –
grossly overstated.
I have been locked up,
misread, am unkempt,
a dishevelled mess –
childish demonstrations
proclaiming innocence.
All the while mouthing
nothingness – exaggerated
exuberance, tiring even me –
have destroyed compassion
with carelessness
I would embrace Spirit,
be comforted by that old familiar
warmth, declare faith
and be absolved of guilt,
but I am too far gone.
Cruising fills my fantasies –
reveling in life, loved ones in tow,
prideful, excited –
sailing past Mecca,
places of service,
relinquishing embellishments,
fully alive!
Conceived in strife –
a familial intrigue
with the macabre –
I am dragged along
treacherous passages,
abandoning joy for desolation,
preoccupied with loss of life.
Reviled, I retreat
flee, crying out in alarm,
cannot tolerate
flesh-eating
walking dead
Crave restoration
of equilibrium,
a life purpose
worthy of visibility
am stalked
by regrets –
a damaged child
seeking baser needs-
elude her!
Launch this ship;
sail into the exotic –
escape!
Responsibility
anchors me,
secrets and wounds
regress – I am
the living dead,
locked out,
focus crowded
need a new defense
if I am to intentionally
recapture relation
ships.
“Come live with us”, Mother suggests
in her there’s-nothing-we-can’t-handle
tone of voice. Father lowers paper,
raises eyebrows, stern blue eyes
flashing over spectacle rims, says
nothing. Am I supposed to interpret
concordance or contradiction?
“But you live in a box! Where would
I sleep?” “More of a rectangle.”
I contemplate room dividers, imagine
claiming a corner of the room.
Or I can move in with the man-child,
learn to tolerate delusions, listen
to incessant rants of how he’s been
wronged, content myself with
picking up after endless trails of
discards – same four-walled
containment, different cohabitant.
But wait! “Where’s the plumbing?”
How does one discreetly manage
personal excrement in a one-roomed
existence? I startle; awaken.
No plumbing needed here;
I’ve received an invitation
from the grave!
Sometimes life gives us choices;
no guarantee either will be palatable.
Come one! Come all!
Step right up folks!
See the amazing,
one-of-a-kind,
baby-juggling
woman!
Come see this matron
turned tigress!
Witness how the weaker sex
transforms into a powerhouse
of resourcefulness –
a magnificent multitasker!
You will not believe your eyes!
These are no ordinary
babies, Ladies and Gentleman!
See the menacing three-year-old
who looks like an angel but
has the mind of a devil!
Look upon the smallest child
only months old, but with lungs
that will shatter glass…
be awed by the gigantic
boy baby, youngest of them all
with an insatiable appetite.
Step right up folks!
Watch as this extra-
ordinary woman
breast-feeds two babies
and prepares supplemental formula
all whilst reading to the third!
Behold how she balances
two baby carriers
while strapping
a toddler into
her car seat!
Marvel over how
she shops for groceries –
a magnificent feat,
Ladies and Gentlemen!
Tremble as she maneuvers
her two-carted entourage
through people-ridden aisles,
list firmly gripped between
her teeth, while she emits
a constant stream of baby talk
keeping the trying toddler
on a verbal leash.
Sigh with relief
as silence settles
over the household
and our heroine falls
into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Be terrified as she awakens
with a start, suddenly realizing
she has abandoned her boy-child,
in her vehicle, overnight!
You will be amazed!
You will be inspired!
You will be horrified!
Step right up,
Ladies and Gentleman!
This is a one-of-a-kind,
never-seen-anything-like-it
attraction, guaranteed
to entertain!
Catch it here, live!
Twenty-four/ seven,
Ladies and Gentlemen!
No two shows are alike!
Step right up folks!
Admission is free!
One Woman's Quest 