Quarrel started
over his choice
of reading material
She couldn’t compete
with centrefold perfection
but held her tongue
Afraid she wouldn’t win;
defended her innocence
when magazines disappeared
Sleepwalking doesn’t count
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
I called you
that one time
poured my heart out
such despair
I called you.
You weren’t there.
Left a message –
garbled words
rushed to beat
inevitable beep.
Regret immediate
then panic
ineradicable
the outpouring
of a lonely heart
fantasizing.
I called you.
You didn’t answer.
You never called back.
Thank you for that.
(I found this poem on my other blog, and have given it a new title. 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)
I try to draw the curtain
on your ominous darkness,
as if emotions can be delegated
to black and white; as if love
can be anything other than
this shadowy meandering –
roots of your uncertainty
roots of my deception –
a tangled path indeed.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twiiter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Blazing glorious
day bids adieu
Night has it own
shadowy shenanigans
Dawn and dusk –
ever-submissive
Wait with anticipation
for the gratuitous show.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknuton. Art my own)
My son used to burn himself
press the lit end of a cigarette
against his bare flesh
an attempt to penetrate
the numbness –
this I know
because I did it too
walking barefoot in the snow
cutting till blood oozed
there is a pain
familiar to adolescents
that bears no explanation
a hellish limbo –
suspended between innocence
and adult expectations
unable to articulate
the wrongs endured
or separate shame
from responsibility,
an inexplicable grief
and longing…
…longing to understand
at least for a moment
the pain one dare not feel.
(Image my own)
Wish I could converse –
one harmonic voice blended
in a symphony of birdsong –
but my tongue stumbles
reveals me as interloper
As much as I tread softly
over forest floor, my missteps
crackle, alert the denizens
danger is about – no imploring
can reverse the impression
Nature’s sensitivity is finely tuned
and I am urban-scented, barely
tolerated, seldom trusted –
must bear my reverence for this
sacred space more deliberately.
(Image my own)
My essay, A Girl Named Moose, received honorable mention in the Navigating the Change essay contest.
Thank you to K E Garland for the opportunity. Read the essay here.
On doctor’s orders, I will be taking things easy for a bit. Have a few posts scheduled here, and will check in when I can.
Wishing you all a blessed holiday season. I hope you know how much you mean to me.
Take care.
VJ
Paradise:
Where the clouds of yesterday
pierced by the hope of tomorrow
linger over today’s shores.
7(For Eugi’s Weekly prompt: paradise. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 