Anxiety burns an acidic devouring confidence impaled – mind wanders to childhood dreams uncovers fear’s origin.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. I came across this tanka written in May/21 that seemed to match with the image I recently posted on my other blog. I decided to pair them here.)
We wait at the station, Mother and I, one final stop for her – painless she prays; I busied at bedside – prolonged goodbye – memories and regrets filling our days.
“We live too long,” she wearily proclaims “Why must suffering linger till the end?” I plea and bargain, call angelic names, yet the will to survive refuses to bend.
The urgency builds as my time dwindles; must I leave her in this compromised state? She rallies and stands on wobbly spindles dismisses fears – has accepted her fate.
Some destinations are clearly defined – Death is a train whose schedule’s unkind.
(The Last Train first appeared January 2019. Image my own)
It wasn’t the knowledge of stability – chaos had the upper hand back then. It wasn’t even that love was expressed – unconditional an unheard of concept
It was an unspoken presence the reassurance of rocks the irrepressible allure of a freshwater stream
How a child’s heart found encouragement in the whispering wind solace in the arbored shelter
Naturally the din of home life overpowered this self-assured passage, disrupted kinship and shattered childish faith
But all that is behind now and when I clear cluttering thoughts, disperse static emotions, quiet the heart
The rhythms are still there – presence offering sustenance…
(Poem first appeared here, January, 2021. Image my own)
Two decades before the fall I dreamt of that white house with black shutters, entered the dimness and saw myself – withered, a straw body
Could I have altered the course gathered that mummified self in my arms, breathed new passion into old bones, stopped the onslaught of night of cells freezing passionless
No. I walked in oblivion seduced by false trickery dim-witted in the fading light cold, aloof, unresponsive warnings be damned
Two decades later, body inert, mind bereft of hope – I dreamt of a younger self so intent on life that she passed me by.