Funny how memory differs…
My fears, closeted,
clouded the view…
Your oblivion smug…
there was potential there, I’m sure –
but sometimes love isn’t enough
expectations and insults
impenetrable dividers…
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @ Vjknutson. Image my own)
Is this progress,
this decision to uproot,
cast possessions aside,
free ourselves of ties?
Can his dependency,
my dependency, endure
the transition, released
from former justifications?
We are companions
embarking on adventure,
companions retiring past
lies, redefining possibility
Or, is this more of the same,
artfully camouflaged –
a continuance of flight
from tyrannical origins?
The paths behind are jagged,
wrought with rocks and crevices
and scarred riddles, and yet;
have we not survived? Thrived?
The road ahead is expansive,
our home an ever-changing
landscape, as wide as a continent –
our minds eager to absorb…
This is progress;
we are unburdened,
free spirited, submitting
to new tests of truth.
(Poem first appeared in October, 2017. Image my own)
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)
Mysterious, this pull
these avian dreams
I would rather fly away
lacking courage’s backbone
Yet here we are, facing
another day – me the bird
And you, the indomitable tree
roots to my wayward vision
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
My memory of you –
distorted by childish exuberance-
distant and disinterested
Translated vacant eyes
through the lens of my needs
child that I was.
Failed to notice
the aura of defeat,
the battered heart
the robotic responses
masking unbelievable sorrow
missed it all
Till death knocked
and I saw you anew –
adult lenses now fully secured.
Wonder at the fortitude
that kept you upright
the love that served us both.
No fault here –
on either side –
just a bittersweet understanding.
(Distorted Lenses first appeared here August, 2019. Image my own)
We’ll venture
into the city
Pretend our bones
are not dust
Ignore our fails
Hearts soft
Love nostalgic
Hold hands
like lovers
Location historic
(ours alone)
celebrate resilience.
(Today we celebrate our anniversary. Image my own)
The gambler puts in fifty-cents
expects hundreds in return;
a simple flick of the wrist
and abundance will be his.
I feel like a slot machine:
paying dues for minimal input.
Tells himself there is more
to be had, if luck runs his way;
walks away from the richness
of family, joy of friendships –
Id’ be a slot machine for him
if love equated with money
Dreams of possibilities beyond
his daily reach, a fast track plan:
fortune is calling, palm itching
just one more roll of the die –
The die has been cast here;
no longer willing to gamble.
One more momentous win,
a promise to share the wealth;
what more could any woman want
from a man – half an empty dream?
Took a chance, myself once,
thought he was my windfall…
guess, in the end, all gamblers lose.
(Originally penned Gambler in July, 2016. Image my own)
Was willing to settle
even before casting off
anchorless, with no compass
to guide me, nor oar to steer
left fate to the currents
a vessel adrift; naïve
trusted those with power
to rescue me, unaware
of the target vulnerability
made of me, that sharks
like to circle wayward
boats, certain of a catch
no wonder, when finally
I came ashore, wrecked
I had lost faith in love,
turned hope to cynicism
had failed to register
the dangers of sailing
into uncharted waters –
the necessity of navigational
resources, and a life jacket,
the knowledge to stay afloat
and safe, in a sea where
discernment saves hearts.
(Washed Ashore first appeared here July 2018. Image my own)
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)
Love evolves –
a consideration
we overlooked
those day when
passion drove us
to fanciful displays
Tried to align myself
to the certainty
of your dreams
but my compass
was set elsewhere
Memory, though
has tattooed us
on my heart;
the ink still bleeds.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image mine.)
One Woman's Quest 