Have = results – So the having is because I did something or sometimes didn’t necessarily do something in the then and there but simply because of who I am, usually after investing time in being exactly who I am. When I DO something, I take action. Intentional action, based in love not fear. Hope not prevention of further crisis!
Be = presence around intangibles. Being is that formless place that somehow impacts every other formed thing out there. You know, the countenance – that glow that pulling that magnetism that can’t be defined or captured with words and yet, is conveyed in infinite numbers of words. Be – Do – need to be in line in order to HAVE… or rather, on the same infinite loop-de-loop continuum. (reminder to self: look up home funeral thingeemabobber)
dread, grasp, pacify are the three words on Three Word Wednesday and I wrote something so familiar it got on my nerves, so I am going to play around with an addendum or rather weave what feels like an addendum into the poem itself to give it more texture and less “ho-hum, it is another of these familiar khaki pants we are seeing everywhere this year.”
Pacify – pursuade me to believe the not-so-believable
“He loves you” or “You will be safe” or “for better or worse”
Mean anything when all you see is his back
As he walks away, leaving you alone with the babies
The house, the stigma, the memory
the mortage, the bill collectors, the church committee members
the parents the clogged drain in the kitchen
the piles of clothes in the closet and your socks
which seem to appear everywhere at the most
inopportune times, like the first time she was
brave enough to bring a man into her home to
assuage the needy loneliness that coats everything,
the phone calls to friends to ask for coffee dates
the chats with the mail carrier the notes to the teacher
praying for progress because you left those meetings behind as well
the privilege he once had is gone
(Pronouns perplex me sometimes and interrupt my writing, just like that.
What stupid pronoun should I use now? Comes the glaring thought
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.
Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do. Yes I do.
Katherine is being a diva again, holding her father hostage. The phone rings, I assure all that yes, ofcourse I can and YES naturally I will and rolling my eyes I add it to my to do for the day when mostly all I want to do is paint. My time now for other things is sliding. Slipping. Rolling under the table to find the balls of fluff and the cast off playing cards (I wondered where that ace of spades had gone to!)
Icy blue edge of dread
square cubes, melting
Leaves hope just out of grasp
dandelion seeds, spraying
across verdant green
Spirit left, the Almost hovers,
like the ghost of christmas yet to be
Her eyes see only the back seam of
His blue oxford shirt and the
Well worn soles of his loafers
As he opens the car door without
Looking her way she stands
and waits and waits and waits and
fills herself with the what was missing
when he was here no reason, then
to hang her head and she finds, quite
by surprise, when she is left alone with the babies
The house, the stigma, the memories,
the mortage, the bill collectors, the church
committee members the parents the
clogged drain in the kitchen, the PTA
the piles of clothes in the closet and his
undarned socks that her shoulders
are suddenly falling into place rather
than living in the space right beneath
her ears.
She feels herself exhale
Blue eyes fixed on the floor see a pair
of small feet next to hers, attached to
small legs and small hands and a pair of
blue eyes, matching hers. The small mouth
smiles and she vaguely hears “I love you, Mommy”
Hope floats on the words of the child
the splintered seam of her pink pajamas
ironically spoke everything’s okness
she opened the kitchen door
Through the clouds of her heart’s chatter
She… ok, decent rough draft, my love.
Time to move along.
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