A good word to describe what I’m feeling just now as I navigate my way through a medical system that seems to work in all ways backward.
Frosted as in, “That really frosts my cookies.”
Which is a phrase that makes me laugh, and I have no idea what it really means, but the fact that it makes me laugh is enough.
For now.
Because if I don’t laugh, I’m going to cry. Or yell.
Now, who wants a cookie?
and this is my life right now.
i focus on the beautiful part,
the first dusting of snow,
the wind in tall grasses,
12 crows in the beige back field.
things taken for granted
are cherished once again.
frustration is an ugly word,
an impossible puzzle.
this word sits on my shoulder these days,
tap tap tapping… just to make certain
i do not forget.
i tell myself this will pass.
i tell myself that spring will come
with tiny green shoots and blood red roses.
i tell myself, again and again.
a bluejay lands outside my window,
a message to stay strong.
fight back.
rosehips and berries offer food
from a dry, barren landscape.
we eat, together.
and this is my life right now.
as i stood there waiting in a dust filled corner
smote and smitten with the angle
of a sun designed to rip my heart out
while you cursed and carried on
everything is always locked
but the eyes of this dark-haired girl
in a poster tacked to the blank back wall
her empty stare covering the hole
you drunk-punched open
on a night i will always remember
she knows everything about you
and i can’t read that droll expression
yet if i stand here long enough
in this spot of dancing light
my shadow will become her
Everything in life feels off center and crooked. Odd angles jutting here and there through a forest of misguided direction.
Of course, you can’t see the big picture when you hover so low to the ground. Too many shadows, obstacles, possibilities.
Rise above.
Rise above.
Look down at yourself and laugh at how tiny it all becomes.
Soar higher, until all detail is lost. Until there’s just a quiet quilt far beneath you, waiting to cushion your landing.
Don’t land until you have to. Tail wind, tailspin, kite flyer.
Holding on to air is just as difficult as clinging to nobody’s hand.
Don’t let go.
Coast.
Dive.
Coast again.
You are the compass in an ocean of sunlight. Your shadow points in every direction.
Light, dark, light, dark through a checkerboard of miles.
Pack lightly. Travel far.
Circle back.
Begin again.
Remember.
december colors
wrapped in august light
the softest of shadows
in a promise of night
.
november’s first wind
stripping leaves from tall trees
in a violent flurry
of release
.
.
feather and rock
needle and stone
leaf and boulder
.
tree tall
and night fall
.
debris and detritus
claiming space
the shape of beauty
.
wind blown
and heart thrown
.
spinning spinning
in the grey pirouette
of hope’s abandon
.
but that’s not to say
death isn’t final
and the gold ring on my finger
isn’t valuable
or that some days my eyes aren’t
more emerald than olive
i refuse to be bitter
yet sit here
sipping vinegar
singsonging my way
through another day
of valiant questions and
i’m certain i was meant to be a tree
nothing feeds me like sky
birds are my shelter and
i need roots to hold me
still
even as i crave wind in my hair
and words on my skin
crawling clawing genuflecting
on a surface of no definition
bent broken akimbo
lackadaisical limbs
circling stars in a pattern
of pretty
tracing sibilance
with long bony fingers
through the avarice
of dark’s last answer
.
.
.
.
where there
is smoke
there is fire
.
but there
could also
be ice
.
you can’t
always tell
the truth
just by looking
.
sometimes
you need
to listen
.
i want to live
in the sky-ceilinged
shadows
.
wood nymph
flower girl
gatherer
.
resisting hope
is hopeless
while
everything grows
amidst decay
.
seeds and leaves
on the floor
of survival
.
i am this tree
that bird
those spiny cones
.
the light
reminds me
of everything
.
