life · poetry · recovery · spirituality

Divine Spark

The emerald waters of
my crystalline personality
are only a reflection
of an external light.

Lurking below the surface
the murky tears
of self-deprecation
create further illusion.

Dive deeper,
beyond the cold chill
of darkening thoughts
and threatening despair

Weed through the silt
of bottomed out desires
and find an opening –
black and foreboding.

Enter with an open heart
and find the treasure within
rusted from neglect,
unguarded, with open latch.

Brush away the cobwebs
and with respectful caution
lift the dusty lid
and behold the divine spark

My true essence,
Tucked there in the darkness
an eternal flame
vibrant and vital.

Release it for me,
be so kind,
to light this dismal patch
and set my waters aglow again.

So that the emerald waters
of my crystalline personality
will reflect an internal
divine light.

(Reposted from September 2014)

aging · disability · dreams · Family · health · life · poetry · relationships · women's issues

I Stand In The Doorway

Surrounded by the animated chatter of youth,
a mother piles food on plates, busies herself
with addressing individual needs, smiles warmly.

In another room, a woman lies lifeless, grieving
a life now passed, children gone, an absentee mate;
she is alone, feels the burden of her inadequacy.

I stand in the doorway between the two,
longing to join the reverie in one room,
unable to tear myself away from the other.

Would you like something to eat? I offer,
wanting to draw her her out of isolation,
but she turns away, claims to be dieting.

That’s not the right way to go about it
her eyes are cold, dying, my words a lecture,
how can she ignore the succulent aromas?

Outside, the men gather, raising glasses
and voices, masculine camaraderie, content
to let the women do their thing – oblivious.

We could join the party, I offer, but she is
tired of parties, tired of small talk, tired of
it all. I am inclined to agree, have known futility.

I want to go back into the kitchen, forget
about her, but it’s too late; I’ve touched
her sorrow, cannot let go, am powerless.

Think I’ll go outside, air out my mind,
sit amongst the clueless, talk about
everything and nothing, deny responsibility.

I stand in the doorway between two women
one who finds purpose in service to others,
and one whose life has lost all meaning.

I stand in the doorway between the two,
and notice that the mother is no longer me,
and that woman in the bed has no future,

and suddenly realize that I have choices,
and that motherhood or empty-nester
are self-imposed definitions, irrelevant.

Whether to participate or not in life is my call
and not a reflection of how I feel about my body
or whether or not I am giving or doing enough.

I turn from that doorway and make a decision
to just walk away – the kitchen will always be
a place of vitality and the bedroom a refuge

and me, I will be outside enjoying a drink
and conversing about who knows what
and living, obligation-free, in the moment.

 

dreams · poetry · recovery · relationships · women's issues

Lacking

Met a man who fulfilled
her dreams, saw in him
the qualities she lacked.

Projected possibility,
overlooked his Spartan
nature, interjected hope.

Catered to his friends
befriended offspring
re-envisioned his life.

Moved in; organized
planned, replaced self
with wifely anticipation.

Overcompensated for lack
with people pleasing panache,
felt judgment from every angle.

Lost sight of her lover,
overshadowed by the
darkness of her past

In a panic, she withdrew
saw folly in her actions
questioned his intentions

reassurances highlighted
her vulnerability, she was
a broken-winged bird.

Stay, he pleaded, I need you
but she was already gone,
chose self over his lacking.

dreams

Today is a Good Day to Die

A satiny bed awaits me,
pearly white, with a prop for my head,
indigo drapes offering privacy,
comfort for eternal rest.

Today is a good day to die.

Yet, I wander,
in search of self,
I travel the highways,
seek respite in rest stops
along the way –
Tim Hortons,
souvenir t-shirts,
no place to settle.

I look for myself
in overpriced
boutiques
promising originality,
reeking of pretentiousness,
I remain restless.

It is only in your distress,
as I pause to lend a hand-
help you fight your demons-
that I forget my own condition.

It is only in selflessness
that I am whole.

Today is a good day to die.