spinning

I’m spinning now but it’s not the glorious adventure I remember
nay, it’s an unsettling, sort of sick feeling
I want to frolic with abandon
but my clumsiness keeps getting in the way

Is there anyone who will take my hand?
help me cross over this little hill
the hill that seems to keep growing as I climb
because I really don’t want to be alone in this

But my cries echo off the boulders strewn in my path
the air seems thin and I can hardly breathe
I stopped my body spinning but I can’t stop my thoughts
spinning, pouring out of my head like a waterfall

The lightness I was looking for has left me
I’m adrift, left to focus on climbing, tripping all the way
why aren’t there others here struggling with me
why am I so alone in this beautiful, terrible place?

Maybe I’m seeing things through the aperture of an illness
that would make so much more sense
than thinking anyone would just leave me without a good reason
or is that indicative of my clumsiness again, thinking I’m not alone?

October 17, 2013 8

elegance of old

when I saw her last, she was walking a bit slower
her gait still jaunty yet slightly bent
she moved with familiarity of her body
the memory of how she moved in youth
pivoting, twisting, stretching
all in quiet grace
fluid
but now she was forced to hesitate a bit
wait for her body to catch up with her mind
still sharp and bending
adventuresome
her eyes were a bit cloudy
not with tears of remembrance
but with aging melancholy
peaceful
she saw things now in a softer focus
knew what mattered
in a way she never dreamed or thought through
when she talked, it was a slower process
for her prose to come through
and when she sang
it wasn’t the cool higher tones of spring
but the warm dulcet tones of autumn
still beautiful in its season of color
wise
her time with her instrument was limited
for her grip was not as strong
but she could still sketch truth
better than anyone I have known
imaginative
she still insisted upon baking her bread
and growing her garden
until she could create no longer
for though these things seemed to me fleeting
she knew that’s what I’d remember most
tangible
she looked askance at her photographs
that filled the wall behind the sofa
some yellowed and torn, some dusty, some worn
and felt no sadness for those that were gone
but a new calm at the idea of seeing them again
anticipation

October 17, 2013 1

predawn

are there dreams at night
you can bring out in unforgiving light
or is it always dark where you are

are there wishes you fish for
but getting lost in the teeming rubble
makes you forget your intent

are there too many voices
crying in chaos yet in unison
or can you still pick out mine

do you bleed and spew
just to show you grew
did you learn you were never whole

are the images too stark
to make you retreat to the dark
or will you keep the lights on

October 17, 2013 0

1 Take. Let go.

Off the record, off the charts, off the books. Nothing is wrong with my memory. It tells me what I saw, how it was. You like a mirage through the rain. “I’m in a mood for you,” you sang, “for running away.” Sweeter words were never swallowed. I almost faded waiting to hear you again. But even your words shine through a dim day. The taste of you and the reminder of your touch remain. Never fading. Never growing old. Like in that perfect instant snapshot, clinging to a love that would always be a hallowed figure, dancing in the rain.