Jumbo Jet they called her – fast on her feet, zooming in, swooping up trays, delivering with flight- attendant flair.
When did she turn to autopilot, stop paying attention to her destination?
Didn’t she know she was set on a crash course, headed for disaster?
Tried to warn her, wake her from stupor; told me she’d reset but danger remains.
She’s cruising now – over-sized turbo-lacking under-fuelled, no longer able to soar – trapped in a treacherous game.
Waits tables, tries to keep a clean house, caters to others, lends an ear, has squeezed every drop of self into a low flying life
needs to land a space of her own, with room to breathe; take life in shorter intervals, refill her jets.
(Portrait of a Waitress was originally written in 2016. Image a self portrait. Note: once upon a time, I was a waitress, whom the cooks referred to as “Jumbo Jet”. I waitressed my way through university, and a few rough spots in life. While I gave up the job, the metaphor of ‘waiting’ continued to be a theme in my dreams for many years after.)
“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.
(Two separate blog posts hit me this week. The first offering the Angelo quotation (sorry, I can’t remember the blog’s name) and the second from my friend Dr Andrea Dinardo, who offers the question: What’s Under the Fear? Dr D offers a five step process for self-discovery. This is my response. Image my own. The poem also fits with my weekly challenge theme: except)