This breach –
this ever-widening gap
fear induced
pits us
against them
as if humanity
can be divided
salvation
a selective process.
We need a balm
to soothe societal
wounds, a tonic
to calm the angst
until clarity
quells the uproar
and kindness
replaces this sin.
(Poem originally appeared June 2019. Image my own)
Favourite colour?
Black, says she
without hesitation;
I falter, stumble
mind reaching –
who likes black?
Is that a colour?
It’s all colours,
she’s nonchalant
intent on task –
carefully keeping
within the lines
Of course it is,
ill equipped am I
to disagree, images
of dark somber
corners, sorrow
and death crows –
Why black? ask I –
composure forced –
had anticipated pink
equate childhood
with primary shades
splotches of yellow
and rainbow skies
candy red apples
on lollipop trees
but black? no –
black obliterates,
negates, destroys
It holds the colour
inside, she explains;
It’s the outline.
Not annihilation –
order; her mind
conceives of order
so much to learn
from innocence
have long forgotten
the art of staying,
within lines, finding
good in all things.
(Drawing from a different granddaughter: her GG)
I would befriend hesitation,
take her shopping with me,
invest the time,
but impulse
is my constant companion.
Hesitation,
born of shared trauma,
labours over pain-filled decisions
My need is palpable,
throbbing,
must suffocate it,
weighted beneath
layers of numbing fabric
Afraid to show myself,
afraid that she will find me,
block any progress,
or worse
make my pay for these layers
of stolen moments…
encounter crazy reflected in her eyes
(Poem first appeared here June 2016. This version has been edited. Image my own)
This life a road –
the way prepared
signs to guide me,
and still, I get lost.
Construction, distraction,
disobedience – throw me off –
tendency to choose tougher routes,
broken down and been sidelined
And yet, the road still beckons,
invites progression, thrills.
A rolling stone gathers no moss,
my father liked to say, and so…
I push ahead, keep motoring,
trust the obstacles – more lessons –
will polish off the rough patches,
and eventually learn to shine.
(Written during my bedbound years with ME/CFS)
Sorry –
so much inadequacy
bundled into one word
as if five letters
can convey
depths of regret,
shock, dismay
seems I am the spark
to your lighter fluid –
unintentional, I swear
still reeling
from the aftermath
of the explosion
attempting to
deconstruct the
formula –
precautionary
I am sorry –
that you are enraged,
that you are so obviously disappointed
that you are consumed with resentment –
except, it is sadness, not regret that I feel.
I cannot own this,
was always honest,
forthright,
did not feed your expectations
Besides,
learned long ago –
we don’t have the power
to make anyone
feel anything
least of all,
sorry.
So I’m not sorry,
but maybe
if you could just tell me,
give me an inkling
of what you might need
I can help us out of this hole.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 