Martyr’s Lament and Superwoman’s Dark Side

MARTYR’S LAMENT

I woke before dawn and drove
through blinding snowstorms for you.

I was lost, but without faltering,
I altered course, and when
I could drive no further, I set out
on foot, navigating treacherous
snow and ice, risking my life,
pushing forward against all odds
for you.

So that you could get where you
need to be; so that you
can succeed: I risk
it all for you.

And all the while,
I keep you by my side,
so that you will be safe,
so that I can ensure
your arrival.

But I grow weary,
and my body just will not go on,
and all I ask is that we rest for a while,
so that I can catch my breath.

But you, you walk away –
no hesitation in your step,
no looking back –
and when you do stop to wait
it is too late

a barrier has grown between us:
an eight-foot, chain-link fence
separating me from protecting you,
and you look at me with that gaze
of exasperation as if to say:
I should have done it on my own.

Wait! I say, Wait!
This wall may seem insurmountable,
but I can do it!  I can do it;
just give me time.  I’ll climb
to the top; it’ll be easy –
you’ll see…

Don’t walk away.
Give me one more chance
to prove my love for you

I do it all for you.

SUPERWOMAN’S DARK SIDE

fine-cut crystal, silver and gold
sparkle and entice –
the table is laid
for guest aplenty

savory aromas conjure visions
of sumptuous gravy,
delectable roast,
crisp-cooked vegetables,
and decadent desserts

she’d stop to admire her handiwork
but the children, tired and hungry
bored with the waiting,
tug at her hem

Waiting.
It is her strength.
Prepare, prepare –
then wait.

invitees will arrive shortly,
noisily – full of their days,
faintly aware of the backdrop,
happy to have left their babies

and they’ll sit and be served
and remark on the deliciousness
and gobble up seconds
then push back chairs
and wander off for a kip
or a smoke

and she’ll linger a moment
picking at her congealed gravy-covered mash
unconsciously dabbing at a red wine stain
marvelling that she’d accomplished it all
once again
without bitching
without protesting
a trooper till the end

What’s that you say?
She’s sounding a bit like the martyr?

Oh no, you’ve found her out;
Superwoman has a dark side.

(Martyr’s Lament and Superwoman’s Dark Side were originally posted in December of 2014, and have been edited here.  They are personal favourites as they emerged from my dreams and marked an aha moment in my own journey.  Hope they made you smile.)

 

 

 

Relocate. Reset.

Mom said she was going to leave Dad
couldn’t take it anymore
we moved.

Relocate. Reset.

Bullying at school was out of control
I couldn’t take it anymore
we moved.

Relocate. Reset.

Truancy became a problem
then there was the rape
school said I had to go

Relocate. Reset.

Sisters moved back home
one unhinged,  the other battered
Mom said it’d be better if I left

Relocate. Reset.

Shuffled boxes from one relationship
to another, changed careers
like hairstyles – bored?

Relocate. Reset.

Never did grow roots
too good at packing up
trouble comes

Relocate. Reset.

Tell you more, but we’re about
to pull out, the road is calling –
you know how it goes.

(Written in response to The Daily Post prompt: relocate)

Sleeping Alone

Sleeping alone –
so intrusive –
a child born of
so many intentions
awash in a trail
of barricades

I cope, cook up
breezes, strike
wet ground,
stuff myself
to satiate
the onslaught

ground rapidly
shifting –
Earth Mother
exerting presence –
too stubborn,
I turn away

Look for
God, but my
cup keeps moving –
I am unreachable,
charmed by
a broken tale

aimless,
oppositional,
overwhelmed –
cry out but
absence holds
no listeners

need adhesive
to fix this urgency –
a peerless torrent –
if only I could simplify
these wounds
find a stopgap

emotion
bubbles up
overflows
manifests
external turmoil
replaying sorrow

sleep offers
no repair
alone
tormented
by the issue
at hand.

(Image: blogs.voanews.com)

Garbage Night

Don’t take out the garbage
during a black out – alligators
prowl in blackened streets,
lurk curbside waiting
for the unsuspecting –
I’ve seen them,
chasing the pedestrian,
my screams ineffective;
witnessed the brave
returning from the night
disheveled and shaken
Was it the alligator? I ask
with all the compassion
of I-told-you-so.
No, comes the reply,
it’s the tiger
out back.
So much danger
in the dark, please
wait till the lights
come on before
dealing with trash.

(Inspired by a dream and dedicated to my husband who never takes out the garbage the night before pick up.)

Photo from Trip Advisor

Age and Obstacles

Sloth-like she shuffles
each stride an argument
against unwilling muscles,
ignores spasms, lips pursed
in concentration, advances

Cockeyed he totters,
step…hop…step, poker-hot
stabs punctuating his effort
moves swiftly as if to out run
pain, face set in determination

They are out of sync, oddball
awkward sightseers, obstacles
for the fast-moving able-bodies
that whir past unable to fathom
motivation in crooked spines.

The race here is against time,
propelled by insatiable thirst,
they forage for snippets worthy
of hoarding, squirrels readying
for winter’s harsh call, days

when minds still alert will hunger
despite bodies inert, they will
dine on memory, boast about
the daring, reminisce fondly
over adventures hard won.

(The Daily Post prompt is snippet.  Hope you enjoyed.)

 

Flirting With Success

I have dallied with success
mingled with the scent of
expensive coiffures, swooned
to the physicality of well-fitted
suits, oozing polished confidence

eyes that penetrate the core
of my desire, arouse a feral
vitality, make me squirm like
a school girl dreaming of her
first crush’s kiss, too old now

for such foolishness, besides
I am married to impotence
have long ago committed to
the fruitlessness of outcomes
suppressed futile yearnings

Oh, but I am not immune
to flights of fancy – virility
freezes over but does not
die out – imagination stirs
flesh warming to power’s

promising caress, how I
would unleash this secret
explode with potential, if
I still bore the vivacity of
youth, could do it all over.

(Image: Pinterest)

Departure

He is the planner,
planning routes and stops,
measuring distances, researching
particulars, focused on specifics

I am the organizer,
organizing a mass cull,
distribution of worldly possessions
to kids, goodwill, or garage sales

He is the scheduler,
scheduling maintenance,
pre-departure inspections,
double-checking mechanicals

I am the communicator,
communicating itineraries
answering emails, phone calls
reassuring family left behind

We lose each other
in the preparation scramble,
absorbed as we are in personal
agendas, anxious for departure.

The future is unknown,
we have committed to the leap,
replaced obligations with openness,
are setting sail on a new adventure.

We are questers,
questing after discovery,
retreating from a weighty past
leaving judgment in our dust.

We are travellers,
traveling off the beaten track,
chasing vibrant panoramas,
a close proximity to nature’s best.

 

Poisonous

She is beauty defined –
the flash of deep brown eyes
a wry smile: suggestive, inviting,
she tilts her head, black tresses
cascading over silken skin, and
men flock, eager to bask in her
sweetness, catch the ray of a smile.

She taunts me, mocks my insecurity –
an easy target for one so self-assured –
ridicules my values, my labour, shreds
any sense of self-respect, and then,
with a the flip of a manicured hand,
shrugs it off, invites me for lunch.

I acquiesce, an unwitting stalker,
mesmerized, angry; she is poison,
recognizes my ambitions –  I am fish
nibbling at her bait, disregarding
menace – oppressed by feminine
power, born undesirable, will vomit
her rejection and still come back
for more – a willing victim, adverse
to offense, failure certain, hooked.

A Call To Teach

They set up classrooms in malls,
call them “alternative”, cater to
those who have fallen through
proverbial cracks, teens unfit
for institutional learning…

I was wayward once, could not
value education while teenage
angst pushed me overboard –
home life too quixotic for
reasonable expectations of
comportment …

My heart reaches out
to those displaced, for whom
common curriculum does not gel –
I long to meet with them on concrete
benches, over cups of Tim Horton’s
lending a sympathetic ear…

School is not the defining moment
the last stop before our final destination;
it is a stepping stone, one of many paths
that lead to discovery, to definition,
troubled souls crave soothing…

maybe, if I could light a torch
for just one child, build a bridge
of hope, the girl in me would be
quieted, reassured, healed –
validation ensuring a future for all.

(Image: classroom.synonym.com)

Mississippi

She flows, unapologetic of her girth,
does not flinch at barges scoring
her surface nor paddle boats laden
with curiosity; confident in her fluidity

she bears the secrets of life, the sludge
of our history in her belly, stirs the minds
of merchants, voyageurs, and children,
tolerates those who gather at her banks

certain that the final word is hers – no
boundaries can contain her wrath; still
waters rise and spill, she is dragonness,
nature’s force, and she is magnificent.

(Inspired by The Daily Post’s prompt:  sludge and the great Mississippi.  Photo from personal collection)