Division, the determining factor
in their relationship –
who can understand
the dynamics of blood ties?
Cracked images suggest
a camaraderie, at least
once upon a time, and who
recalls the cause of the rift?
Fixated on the anger
distance a monument
to the breach, till one dies
and the absence is cemented
(Image my own)
Even in togetherness there is distance.
I am alone.
A central figure, distracted,
aiming for contact –
unable to eviscerate control –
repeatedly producing a singular confusion.
Define success
Is it the one on the top,
the know-it-all,
or are these the mechanisms
of estrangement?
I am unable to discern-
stability never more than a dalliance.
The pavement ahead whispers
promises of a sense of belonging…
Can I tolerate the quest?
Unfulfilled, I am protective
fear off-shoots of depression,
shield tender inner places…
Bring on change, there are others
watching, looking to me
as an example.
I can strive
on their behalf
Never alone.
Always distances to cross.
(Distance first appeared here February, 2017. Image my own)
Quarrel started
over his choice
of reading material
She couldn’t compete
with centrefold perfection
but held her tongue
Afraid she wouldn’t win;
defended her innocence
when magazines disappeared
Sleepwalking doesn’t count
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Mother said: “Look after your sister!”
What she meant was: Take this burden
off my shoulders; I am no longer able to cope.
Father said: “Do as I say, not as I do!”
What he meant was: I don’t have the wherewithal
to deal with my own problems, so don’t bring me yours.
Sister said: “Be a good auntie!”
What she meant was: I am too young to be a mother,
and you are much more responsible, so take care
of my consequences.
So I ran away to build my own life:
met a man and married, bought a house,
had children, and dreamed of a future
that would erase the past… but
Husband said: “If you really loved me,
you’d lose weight, be less effusive, control
your temper, and be more supportive of my choices.”
What he meant was: I’m going to grind you so far
into the ground and then I’m going to cheat and cheat
and you’ll have nothing left inside to do anything about it.
And without a word, I left.
What I meant was: I am a real person
with needs of my own, and despite my faults
or limitations, I deserve better.
(This is an edited version of an older poem by the same name, December 2018. Image my own)
Girls are lucky:
just need to find the right man –
looked after for life.
Advice from a teenaged brother.
Right! I yell back,
fifty years later.
It was all a vacation –
raising the children on my own
looking for God in the midst of chaos
partners with wandering eyes
or absent…always absent…
still waiting for that “looking after”
And how did you make out, Dear Brother?
Oh, that’s right…married…
woman with a good job
willing to let you putter in the background
Guess we were both misled.
(No Idea! first appeared here November 2020. Image my own.)
Pockets of light
illuminate the shore:
day submitting to dark
I trace the lines
of our passage
remembering
How winds and tides
shaped us; how carelessly
we wasted time…
Danced around
our solitudes –
imitating intimacy
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Old friend, I would visit you
but this compulsive state of
martyrdom delays our reunion;
then you slip my mind.
You wouldn’t recognize me –
this mask I wear, a product
of the toxicity that I play host to,
puts a life on my kind-heartedness
I want to be helpful
but carry a burden of failures –
ghosts from childhood home
that plug my memory
I have hurt so many,
neglected, now lost; family –
these useless ties are shadows
lurking, directing me –
I am sensitive, wanting
to exile the negativity, have been
taught to be considerate, but
cannot erase the inconsistencies
Spend too much time
browsing, delivering a fragment
of the torment that lies within;
am over-involved with self
Really want to be my best
in search of something greater
but today the frustration
is too raw, am at a loss
Old friend, I have reverted back
to dependence, manipulating,
am mentally unstable,
cannot find closure
in all the scattered pieces –
all I have to offer are bit,
disappointing, really – stored
memories that menace
Believe me when I say
I am working hard; want to start
fresh, have a goal in mind,
have not forgotten you
but am running out of
options, frustrated, can’t catch
a break, as the distance
between us widens.
(Chasms first appeared here October, 2106. Image my own)
Most Saturdays I include an audio recording, but this week my voice is not cooperating.
Funny how memory differs…
My fears, closeted,
clouded the view…
Your oblivion smug…
there was potential there, I’m sure –
but sometimes love isn’t enough
expectations and insults
impenetrable dividers…
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @ Vjknutson. Image my own)
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.
(Sorry first appeared here 2018. Image my own)
Love evolves –
a consideration
we overlooked
those day when
passion drove us
to fanciful displays
Tried to align myself
to the certainty
of your dreams
but my compass
was set elsewhere
Memory, though
has tattooed us
on my heart;
the ink still bleeds.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image mine.)
One Woman's Quest 