that's mrs. mediocrity to you

::

to the

silence.

::

hear it

singing?

::

for a manifesto, of sorts

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i want to be the old laughing lady.

i want to notice the things that really matter, always.
the sweet smile, the embrace,
the first daffodil poking its head through the snow.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i live in the world i have made for myself.

i survive in the world at large.

my heart spit out its bitter years ago,
making room for more love.

and more questions.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i run through life at top speed
because i want to fit everything in.

there is too much of everything.

there is not enough of anything.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

words are my window to existence.

i am words.

i have always been words, even before i could speak them.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i believe that being alive is a gift.

i believe that being grateful for every breath you take
is the only way to say thank you.

i believe in so much and so little, all at once.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i am a heart that beats out a pattern
like a far-off drum in the night.

i am a soul.

an old soul, a new soul, a wise soul.

a soul that knows nothing.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i am open.

.. ..

….

….

I am participating in Madelyn Mulvaney’s persisting souls photography e-course.
I was so hesitant to do a self-portrait, so hesitant to do a manifesto.
But here I am. This is me, being brave.

it seemed like such a simple question

what would you take with you
if your house was burning down

but it came with too many answers

and then

not enough

and then it sat just there
staring back at me like a mirror

taunting me
daring me
double dog daring me

to answer

if you want to know
i will tell you

on my way out the door

i picked up books and photos

my grandmother’s
gold and white teapot

the christmas bell
my father gave me

the drawings my son
crayoned as a child

a favorite teacup

my journals and poetry

the rose-colored glasses
my mom handed me
on my thirteenth
birthday

cards and letters

my favorite soup pot

the flannel shirt
my husband wore
at our wedding

lace doilies crocheted
by my oldest friend

a necklace made by my sister

my arms grew tired
my burden, heavy

when i got to the door
i turned
and set it all down

all of it

arranged it neatly
in a shrine
to memory

took one step backward
and then another
and another

then finally turned
and walked outside

empty handed

empty handed

heart full

::

::

this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!