in the broken

standing in the broken

fragments of shattered minds around my bare feet

wondering how to move forward without cutting myself to the bone

wondering how long i can stand here before my legs give out and i fall into the shards

 

after a while i begin the calculations

if I step one inch forward, perhaps i can reach some gloves

one tiny nick in my toe but not enough to stop me

i use the gloves to pick up the shards in front of me

a few at a time

the smallest are too hard to get but sharp enough to hurt my feet

finally through the fragments, i wash my feet and pluck out the tiny shards

they sting but there is nothing to do but dab on a bit of salve and bandage the worst of the cuts

i will rest tonight knowing that tomorrow i will find myself in another shard strewn path

the shards of shattered minds are not my own

at least for now

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Certain

Certain

It’s silly really, a woman of a certain age dividing my life into before and after I lost her.
She was very old, living in a world I couldn’t reach, beyond signs of recognition or communication
But she loved me.  

I am certain of that.

How old do I have to grow before I don’t feel the longing for her presence anymore?
How long until I stop feeling the loss of being able to talk over my troubles with her?  
It has been decades since she could advise me, but still she loved me. 

 I am certain of that.

Perhaps that is the hardest loss, knowing that no one will ever love me that way again
A mother’s love is unlike any other; I learned that when I had my own child.   He is a man now and doesn’t need me in the ways he once did.  But still, he knows I love him.

 I am certain of that.

Soft Carpet

Soft Carpet 

 

I wake in the pre-dawn hours, my to-do list already scrolling in my head. 

 

Groceries to buy, meds to sort, bills to pay. Navigating routes to ferry one to a medical appointment while efficiently running errands for the other. An endless list, devoid of my own needs or pleasures. 

 

I just want to stay in bed. I want a day when no one needs anything from me. When taking time for myself isn’t guilt inducing. I want to paint and create, write poetry and string beads. I want a long soak in a hot bath. I need a pedicure. There is no time for such luxuries. 

 

I’m feeling sorry for myself. Time to put my feet on the floor. As I stand, I am reminded of how soft the carpet feels under my bare feet. And in that moment, I know that I am already surrounded by pleasures and luxuries. 

  

I just need to pay attention. 

Crack and Shatter

Crack and Shatter 

 

Standing on the corner of Crack and Shatter

Wondering where the pieces will fall.

Some of the small ones are already flaking away.

I try to pick up the tiny shards, but they disappear in my hands. 

 

Some days I can't remember how I got to this place.

I suppose it was step by step but perhaps it isn't helpful to know, 

There is still a long road ahead.

I need to find some glue. 

What Does Broken Look Like?

 

What does broken look like 

When there are no fragments of glass on the floor 

And there are no cracks in the wall? 

 

What does broken look like 

When the meals are made 

And the house is clean? 

 

What does broken look like 

When the music still plays 

And the artwork is bright? 

 

What does broken look like 

When greetings are cheerful 

And smiles are unwavering? 

 

Perhaps it looks like the man on the subway 

The woman in the grocery store 

The child on the school bus. 

 

Perhaps it looks like the clerk in the convenience store 

The receptionist in the dentist office 

The server in the restaurant. 

 

So much invisible pain 

So many invisible people 

So few glances in the mirror.

Changed and Unchanged

 

 

Mostly I have come to terms with being a sponge for the emotions of the broader universe.  There are still days when it is hard.  Even if I don't want to, I tend to feel things so deeply.  And there is so much going on in the world right now that it is a constant challenge not to sink into darkness.  Add to that, the recent diagnosis of Alzheimer's for my eldest sister has made me abundantly sad, not just for her but for myself and our other sister too.  I am mourning the loss of the future I imagined we had - three sisters sharing adventures in our old age.  I am her primary caregiver now and I am already tired.  Nothing to be done about it but to soldier on, one day at a time.

 

I wanted to believe the challenges of the Covid 19 virus changed the world in good and important ways.  That we, the people of the world had finally learned that the fate of some of us, affects the fate of all of us.  Viruses don't respect politics or borders.  Given that there is a war raging in Ukraine, it doesn't appear we learned that lesson.  But it isn't just wars in far off lands that have shattered my illusions.  I've watched Republican politicians in the U.S. work hard to successfully obliterate the rights of women to sovereignty over their own bodies.  It doesn't take a rocket science to know that obliterating the rights of other groups will be next.  Old, white, "Christian" men just can't seem to accept that their time of ruling the universe has passed so they try with every last vestige of their strength to tamp down anyone they see as "other".  It's a bad time to be female, gay or dark-skinned in America.  And while I know this has not, so far, affected our legal rights in Canada, I also know that hate does not respect borders either.  God help us.  So while I have certainly felt angry about what is happening south of the border, it is the events of the last week that pushed me into the darkest place.  Nineteen children and two teachers killed in the latest mass shooting in an American elementary school in Texas.  And just like the other mass shootings before this, we all know nothing will change as a result of it.  The cable news networks will incessantly broadcast coverage of the funerals, memorials and press conferences and then it will stop.  More eighteen-year-old boys will go into gun shops and legally buy assault weapons.  More little children will die.  But isn't that the way of modern day American politics?  Protect embryos and fetuses at all cost but the lives of women and children don't make the list of things that are important.  The right to own a gun is more important than the right of nine-year-old children to be safe in their schools.  The GOP right-to-life belief system is good for a six-week old fetus but once children are born, they are screwed.  It is the parents I cry for.  They don't just mourn the loss of their children, they mourn the loss of the futures they thought they had.  No graduations.  No weddings.  No grandchildren.  The very thought of the pain of those mothers shatters me.  

 

Today is supposed to be a happy day for me.  For the first time this afternoon, I will attend the wedding of one of my kids.  Covid restrictions blocked my last chance to attend the wedding of a couple of my other kids when they got married in 2020 but this bride postponed her planned wedding until she could have a larger gathering.  We will be an intimate group of 75 and the wedding dinner will be outside.  It suits me just fine.  I took my mandatory Covid test this morning.  I've never had to do that to attend a wedding before so I guess things have changed somewhat.  I will put on my new party dress and paint my nails and do my hair.  I will, no doubt, cry when she walks up the aisle with her mom and dad and tonight I will dance.  This morning I made jam and planned a new painting.  I haven't read the newspaper and I won't be watching the news.  It is a day for joy.  The mess of the world will still be here to look at in the morning.

The In-Between Hours

  

 

The In-Between Hours

 

The in-between hours is when it is hardest
Body aching for slumber
Mind yearning for rest though sleep is not to be found.
In the void is anxiety, angst, pain
What if? What now? Can I?  Should I? How?

Perhaps it is the darkness that fuels the fear
In the long hours between dusk and dawn
When the memories of long past loss, pain and failure
Stoke the fear of more to come
Making the release of sleep impossible.

And when finally the gray morning light  
Creeps into the bedroom window,
I rise to find a blanket of snow has covered the yard
And new blooms have opened on the orchids
Lined up against the kitchen window.