For The World To See

For Polly

At the crossroads, I strain for a better view

on this cloudy hilltop, as if time

were linear and we could simply progress

toward some gourmand meal, the magical

result of every unknowing step revealed

— all the piecemeal duties of the sous chef

actually meaningful and necessary–ta-da!

in the big reveal.  Under the guise

of wise grandmother, here I am

with all my fragmented parts and this

torturous winter still pulling me down

into wretched isolation and bone-deep

cold.  Yesterday my friend, tired from a

trying week, sat down with me to ask

all the important questions true love

requires a heart to ponder.

Then through the terror and tears,

the neon-bright beckoning to denial,

the slow and painful

opening to a new perspective,

she simply held my hand.

My base shifted to include

more aspects of reality,

dropping the false narratives

that simply had no place

in this practical space she held.

And I wish for everyone such a

friend, unstinting generosity,

putting aside her own torments

to show me a brand new possibility

when I can step with love

through the false boundaries of time.


(A stream of consciousness Saturday post meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.  Only “strain” is part of that prompt, the other words just jumped on the bandwagon!)

Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt: strain, guise, base, gourmand and cloudy.

Leap Out (of the box)

The nos are the stepping stones that get you there ~ Andrea Waltz

If I modify the picture
I recall based on these two

(a throbbing innovator poised
on the ledge and my crotchety

father’s why can’t he mind?)
I discover I have never been

naughty. Arriving here
with a hero’s heart

—dressed in pink lace (torn)
with tight shiny shoes (flung)—

bright eyes and the evidence
so clear my oldest brother

needed glasses from hearing so
many nos. I’m leaping forward

then to go back now
circling into myself

and the most powerful version
of us. (Standing up and away

from those little desks and the prattled
history lies, reciting the facts

blocking the intuitive
deep knowing.) A grandmother might

open the door (but she’s pacing
forgetful, safe in a place

that reeks of urine and bleach.)
Schoolmates pushed in competition

separation, everyone desperate
for unconditional regard.

Today I belong, ready for this
daring feat together, right

beside him embracing
non-linear time.

Inspired by Recall, Picture, Modify and Naughty.