Pestilence of Words

Words, like crickets, leap inside my head –
chirping pests whose trajectory eludes
my dulled reflexes, scuttles about
the periphery of awareness.

Harmless in the singular,
a cacophony of multitudes
threaten any semblance
of sanity.

I strive to intuit their rhythm
define the notes in workable phrases
capture the message before
it all disappears again.

(Art my own)

That’s What I Fear

A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes where she will without pretence and arrives at her destination prepared to be herself and only herself.”
– Maya Angelo

I fear living.

No, that’s not it.

I love living…
…but I fear engagement…
…drowning in engagement

Except, I love engagement…
… but only when I dip my toe in the waters
and feel the thrill…
and can still maintain control.

I fear losing control. I fear no longer being able to call the shots, life demanding more of me than I’m willing (or able) to give.

I’m willing to give…
… to a certain point…
…can no longer afford to be sapped dry, wrung out
and discarded… so much hurt
so much betrayal…
such lack of appreciation

I have given.
I have loved and sacrificed and cherished and
given…
…up…
…self

It’s self I’m afraid of losing
and why not?
I am only just able to touch her

She and I, still hesitant
building a certainty
a mutual admiration
respect…

And should I be called upon
to give…too much…well…

I could lose her again.

This is what I fear.

(Art my own)

Father, Daughter

Is a child meant
to carry her father’s legacy?
The discomfort of his skin
rubbing against her dreams
till she is fallen, raw,
paralyzed and unable to flourish?

Is a daughter meant
to carry the burden
of her father’s grief?
His powerlessness hers?
His fate hers to shatter?

I wear my father’s hurt
like a personal affront
am armed to go to battle

searching for the words
that will set us both free

He lying in his grave
me, awake and able.

(Photo collage my own)

Fatigued

Brazen sunlight
accosts my eyelids
bruising my senses

I rail against this day
rising an affront
to my body’s begging

Sleep a little longer
she moans, daylight
holding no sway
over heavy limbs

The sparring has begun –
a daily ritual of coaxing
and empty promises

I cannot will away the illness
that champions this ring –
batters me every time

Am I heroic or a fool
to think that mind
can defeat matter
that will can eliminate
inertia?

The brashness
of morning light
no balm for
endless exhaustion.