driftwood

if the tides have taught you your worthlessness

does it matter what beach you find beneath you?

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Check Out Time

I can’t see that time right now, but I can see that time from here.

Mainly because there is no more hope, and I don’t even have the hope of hope left.

But I still can’t leave. I have to clean my life up as much as I can before I go, because nobody deserves the mess I’d leave if I left right now.

I suppose this means I need to make lists.

And find the motivation that my hope took when it left.

A Friend Like A Poem

I have a friend who is both hurricane and the calm center of the storm.

She’s the hearth-fire you want to come in and warm your hands with

and the inspiration that makes you want to catch fire, yourself

just knowing her makes it easy to believe you could shine forever, if only

you would reach out with even just one tentative motion

 

somehow it’s gonna come out

I think I’m still there, parts of me at least

lying dormant

or maybe

walled off in one of those mad, last ditch efforts to preserve the fragments

I can’t have all disappeared into the rabbit-hole of responsibility

of being the goodwife and mom.

 

But I’m afraid, I think, of letting these fragments out

of trying to reassemble the puzzle pieces of someone who, by all accounts

died more than a decade ago

There is so much rage to these remnants, so much fury untempered by forgiveness

this is looking at an explosion momentarily frozen, a nova that had forgotten physics

A bundle of unreasoning temper in search of a target, locked down

by rapidly rusting locks

Don’t Know When To Let Go

The past few days I’ve locked myself up in the internet, like some fabulous closet where only the glittery stream of information gets in. I don’t want to come out. Out there are bills that cannot be paid and normally well-behaved children who don’t want to this week and a spouse that loves me to distraction and is hurt that his need for me is such a burden to me. I don’t want the children to find the bottom of my patience when it should be bottomless; I don’t want to find my husband’s needs to be the last straw to a long pattern of bearing everybody’s burdens.

I hate to say it but I too was too afflicted with the gotta make everyone happy disease. There isn’t any reason why they shouldn’t be happy, but two points still remain, still are, will always be — why does that happiness have to revolve around my sacrifices, and why doesn’t anyone spend their last lost precious drop of resources on me?

It’s the grouchy maker, the martyr creator, I swear it’s this belief that it’s okay, it’s expected that Mom takes not only the brunt of the burden, but all even down to every last ounce of the load. And what do they know of it? They’re children. They’ve never seen anything else in their lives. And spouse is gone all day every week day and sees life through the prism of his computer games and his music frames. Somebody had to make the sacrifices to keep us all from spinning madly, some off-balance out of kilter buzz saw, spitting sparks as it wobbles destructively through the universe. But I’d say that thirteen years of crazy-making is just about enough, thanks, really no, it’s time for a different pattern. If only the old pattern wasn’t so thoroughly broken and forgotten and erased down through the years. How can I retrace what I used to be, relearn who I used to be, if so much of it has leaked through the cracks of my cobbled together life?

I used to be somebody. So long ago. I used to be somebody. Where did that somebody go?

sparrows

the sparrow

falls

 

 

down, and I see

it all

 

but can stop

nothing

 

what good is the eye

if all sight can do

is wound the heart

 

if all

sight can do

is to alert the hands

to their helplessness

 

what good is it to witness

when there can be only silence

 

the sparrow falls

fluff of feathers

in shades of brown

and the forsaken sky