that's mrs. mediocrity to you

{august break no. 25}

::

what you choose

to focus on,

matters.

::

{august break no. 21}

::

to stand up

for what

i believe in.

::

{august break no. 20}

i am sitting in my back entryway, which is the closest thing i have to a porch, and all i can see is blue sky. yet i hear thunder and it is raining, no, actually, it’s pouring.

apparently, there is a big black cloud hanging over my back, in that blind spot i cannot see no matter how far i turn my head.

and i think i kind of like it. in fact, i think

i’ll just keep right on sitting here

and wait for the rainbow.

{august break no. 18}

the one that was brought to me as a gift, an offering from a puffed-up proud kitten, never mind that i never asked for such a thing, never mind that it makes me cringe, never mind that it breaks my heart.

i read once that cats don’t bring you their kill as gifts, they bring them because they think you are also a cat, the head cat, the big cheese, and so, they are trying to impress you.

i get that, and part of me thinks it is kind of cool, them thinking of me as a cat, but i just wish they would bring these gifts to me too-late-already-dead instead of i-wonder-if-i-wrestle-the-poor-thing-free-if-it-could-survive?

and then i wrestle with myself.

if i were a stronger person, a bigger person, a more courageous person, i would kill this frog the size of my hand and put it out of its misery, wouldn’t i?

wouldn’t that be better than dying like this, upside-down on a cold hard sidewalk, injured and gasping for air?

or maybe that is too much like playing god. maybe it’s not any of my business. maybe that frog can’t feel anything and i am projecting my own thoughts and fears and emotions onto a creature that was never meant to have them. and is it wrong that the waiting bothers me more than the death?

maybe this is all a metaphor for something else… life, love, mortality.

maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.

and so, i wait.

and later, much later, when i am certain the poor frog is dead, i go out and give it a proper burial. by which i mean that i pick it up with a shovel and toss it into the field out back. but i do say a few words of apology before i send it flying.

and then later, not very much later after that, there is another gift. a small bird i cannot bear to look at long enough to see if it is still alive.

i turn away and go back inside.

i have never been very good at waiting.

{august break no. 14}

::

the tangled webs

we weave

are beautiful.

::

{august break no. 13}

::

reflect.

::

::

::

This post is part of Weekend Reflections

{august break no. 11}

::

“Don’t rock the boat,” they like to say,

any time the wind howls just a little too loudly.

“Don’t make waves.”

But as you can see, I have both feet planted

firmly on the ground, and let me assure you,

I’m still standing.

::

{august break no. 9}

in honor of your death

i have burned the mountain

for it was you
who walked beside me
etching creases on my face
to bring me courage

you who wrapped
love’s first seed
in scarlet paper,
held it up
against the sky
to bring me home

you who left me separate
but never quite alone
to teach me the faults
of observation

i watched as
embers cooled
and turned to stone

walked among them
choosing shapes
of heart and
hollow memory

until i came
to gnarled stumps
and saw you
standing

eyes sorry
for the comfort
you had made

::

::

this post is part of dVerse OpenLinkNight join us!

{august break no. 7}

::

she woke up

feeling all

prickly.

::

{august break no. 6}

::

she finally decided

to go grey. 

::