One Woman's Quest

Disability’s Wintry Grasp

Disability, a bitter wintry storm,
constricts movement, freezes
intentions; intervals of icy peril.

I push against the onslaught,
will exert myself for promises
of toddler-sized embraces, live

for the sunny exuberance of
a grandchild’s laughter – am
momentarily revived; warmth

cut short by the tangled web
of instability defined by this
chaos – am learning to choose

battles; even the most mundane
tasks crippled by complications;
I live short-term, close to home;

bed, the only sanctuary I know,
awaits beyond the banks of
accumulated debris, pushed

aside in my haste for progress;
I am like a baby, startle easy,
sleep lightly, comfort elusive;

I am smothered by protective
measures overstated; sealed
in a plastic bubble, suffocating.

Difficult not to be snowbound
when disability’s frigid tempest
unleashes it heartless blast.

(Image: www.alabamawx.com)

Watery Stagnation

Wading knee-deep,
electric yellow waters
of mud laden stream

the coveted prize –
a mutated version –
Christ’s fish hovers

within arm’s reach;
have touched it –
recoiled out of fear.

Status is stagnation –
movement stymied
by lack of current.

Only the constant
thrum of a winged
pest’s belligerence

punctures stillness,
irritates, its hard –
shelled turquoise

body reminiscent
of Halcyon days,
Caribbean sunsets.

What evil virus has
cemented me here
strangled nomadic

dreams, mired me
in polluted waters
imbued with cruel

uncertainty; faith-
less; immobilized
by juxtaposition?

(Photo courtesy: grist.org)

Weighed down by complications –
you see, the amount of baggage
I carry surpasses my storage
capacity; and despite attempts
to simplify, paranoia tends to
my bathroom routines, and
no amount of persuasion can
appease her suspicions; and
the majority of my contents
have been accumulated by
my father’s business, and not
really mine to unload, although
I try, his tyranny still haunts me;
and well, anything new that I
start has to be protected from
the familial bouts of insanity;
and that is why I just want to
pack my bags and get out of
here, and be a mother to my
children; but it’s complicated.

The Narcissist’s Argument

My wife stayed up all night,
waited for my sisters arrival;
told her they would get here
when they get here, but still
she remained vigilant – would
rather lose sleep than let go.

Cooked them a late night
meal, even though I told her
one is watching her figure
and the other precise in her
tastes – no way she could
please them, so why bother.

She worries, my wife, about
being perfect, being accepted;
she’ll never have the polish
of my upbringing or light a
candle to women in my family
and quite frankly, embarrasses

herself trying – I’d rather she
be a mouse, wait until I tell
her to act, let my sisters take
charge, stop trying to pretend
she is good enough, just worry

about fetching my dinners,
finishing the ironing, and
getting on with the children –
I am a busy man. Makes her
angry though, if I say so; snips
at me as if it’s all my fault –

I didn’t ask her to do it – she
wants me to talk to my siblings,
tell them she’s burdened as it is,
ask them to find a hotel – such
nonsense; such a bitter woman,

my wife, impossible to please,
always trying to control the
situation, complaining no one
else will help her – and who can
blame them; who wants to be
around that; that’s why I need

you, my dear, so agreeable, lovely,
you lift my heart; give me hope –
thought about you all night, wished
you were there to fill up the empty
space beside me; know that we can
make each other forever happy.

(image from: galleryhip.com)

Trauma’s Offspring

Insanity meticulously recreates
the murder scene – a minute
replica of the house bloodied;

builds it on the front lawn
where passersby can see,
cannot purge herself of it;

turns on me, annihalation
in her eyes; I will chase her
down, cease this madness;

she is intent on destroying
new life, cutting it into pieces,
re-perpetrating the slaughter;

I must render her defenseless,
wrestle her into submission,
dare not look her in the face

the familiarity of her misery
a mirror of self-loathing; this
sometimes sister/daughter.

Haunted Corners

There’s a place, at the intersection
of break downs and choices ahead,
where I have ownership, but avoid.

Courage resides there, and other
parts of self unnamed – I haunt
the place by night, intrigued by

the camaraderie, lack the guts
to venture into the unknown –
decidedly a criminal element;

need a sense of adventure to aid
escape, squeeze me past seedy,
neglected, cracked pane spaces;

lack wheels, coordinates confused –
am located who knows where –
war for independence my identifier.

In daylight, I am redeemed, visited
by semblances of normalcy, sweet
offerings of obligation, distraction;

revel in youth’s exuberance, pretend
that gifts of kindness sustain me,
ignore the relentlessness of corners.

Crocodile Dreams

How are we to sleep
with this croc in our bed?

Who will protect whom?
Your meaty limbs surely

more appealing morsel;
assert your masculinity

will you dear? I’ll just
curl up in the corner –

pretend I hadn’t noticed.
Oh but what if he’s hungry,

and takes a bite out of
your leg, making a mess

and I’ll have to clean up and care
for you? That’s not acceptable!

I’ll just hoist this critter out
of here, put him in the hall

shut the door – crocodiles
can’t turn knobs can they?

But oh, what about the kids,
do you think he’ll find them?

How are they to sleep with
a crocodile in their beds?

And what kind of legacy
is that to leave the children?

Me Want Cookie!

Cravings, no better than a
tower-sized Cookie Monster,
prowl, growl, stampede –
threatening my very core.

Give me sugar!
Me want cookie!

I flee, take shelter in forests
of broccoli, stalks of celery,
hope this infantile impulse
will pass by, forgotten; then –

Give me sugar!
Me want cookie!

I will drown the inclination
in a shower of water, cleanse
my mind of such sinful desire,
nourish myself with liquid –

Give me sugar!
Me want cookie!

No amount of rationality
appeases the ravenous
creature, fists balled tight
in a childish fit of conviction

Give me sugar!
Me want cookie!

I am losing ground, tension
building – raise the alarm –
run for shelter – the key is
to remain inconspicuous –

Give me sugar!
Me want cookie!

Close the door! Do it quickly,
if no one sees, it doesn’t count –
just one will do it, maybe two –
try not to leave any crumbs.

Me got sugar!
Me had cookie!

I collapse into a puddle of guilt,
self-loathing, disappointment,
while the inner muppet smiles
tummy momentarily satisfied.

Calm Yourself, Woman

Circumstances shift –
breath the fertile air –
let dreams fly, expand,

embrace change – hope
now winged, an explorer
bursting with possibility.

I would move this old
body, relocate to new
beginnings, be reborn

but for these internal
trappings – begging for
extermination – retro

shaded memories –
long past expiration –
skewed accessibilty,

stretched without purpose,
reconfiguration required –
history a real estate, I need

to unload; who will buy
a drama-laden, single
story alcoholic’s haunt?

Circumstances shift –
sniff the fertile air –
guard forbidden dreams

change, like wings, unfolds
in its own time; be patient,
possibility is taking flight.

(Image from: vijaycool.wordpress.com)

Need A Road To Follow

Heading somewhere,
chauffeur unreliable –
treacherously absent
direction – any road

would be better than
these curb-hopping,
tendencies, head-on
into snowy banks –

Common sense –
usually a stabilizer –
is off duty, lacking
appropriate attire,

his willowy, tree-like
composure relaxed;
nonchalantly shrugs
off the current drama.

It’s not that I don’t
have dreams – have
birthed projects –
lack the stature to

move beyond the
laneway, ambition –
reduced by concern –
imagining catastrophe

death by recklessness,
or worse, attacked by
loyalty – vicious end
to a goal-less journey.