Once again I go mobile as my
social nature beckons past
the pain I always knew outcast
the only girl in a boy tribe–
I became a scribe–the earth
sign among the air brothers,
left-handed awkward. My mother’s
despair, I didn’t seem to care.
Round peg rattling around the boxes
which never held securely.
Always toppling out immaturely
at inopportune moments until
today, uphill, I recognize
the convoluted path of my
endurance from the skies.
Pure chance, the window seat
shows the flows I meet
dancing winding reaching touching
water meanders through the clutching
squareness of farm-field plots.
Sniffing a copse,
backtracking for a kiss and on a slow
curve following the movement of life,
round and brimming undermining strife
on my linear track. Looking down,
I see I’ll not take up the slack.
Canyons are carved by running streams
and so I’ll continue riding this jet stream
alive, awake, contained at last
my open heart can hold the past.
Featured image from Steve Hillebrand.