Thursday, April 01, 2010

She Is Trying

She falls.
Collapses, really, on her knees and begins to pray.
She prays out of fear and desperation.
The grass beneath her is dry and warm.
The day still.
The air fresh and indifferent.
It cares not--the wind that is.
It never has.
Those frivolous molecules that circle the globe
Yielding only long enough to make a dent
Or to go around.
What does it care that she is falling apart?
Who would notice
That her statue-like sitting is only because
The alternative would be out-of-control?
She's digging.
Head bowed.
Warm, salt-brimmed tears fill her eyes,
Then cascade onto the blades of green
Where they bend with the pressure--
Receiving her wet offerings.
Here she begins to mumble her prayers.
[The space around her can almost begin
To understand what she is saying.
Its audacious eavesdropping.]
She uses all her strength to maintain composure.
She wants to beat the ground.
Brandish her arms.
Hit something.
Pull at her skin.
Claw at her face.
She doesn't.
She kneels
And prays.
And mumbles.
And cries.


  1. She is another she
    No relation to the first

    First she walks by
    And wonders why

    She ponders the merits of zazen
    Then offers the world a shrug
    Shrugs as she offers her a brownie
    A smile and a hug

  2. The first She
    Thinks this 'another' she is brilliant.
    She looks up and smirks.
    Accepts the brownie.
    Tries to bring life into her eyes...
    To not offend, of course.
    She tries to offer an explanation that could give
    Justice and validation to her feelings.
    Attempt number one:
    "No one listens to me, and I have this sinking feeling that I'm right, and they're all wrong.
    And their wrongness affects me directly..." she says.
    Attempt number two:
    "I'm scared that my world is falling apart." she whispers, as if to herself.
    Attempt number three:
    "I hate relying on other people. Relying on their judgment, or money, or agenda."
    Final attempt:
    "My faith is wavering, and it scares me."
    She turns her head and bows at the neck.
    She prays.


  3. She is baker not a preacher
    Not sure that she can reach her

    She believes that if the recipe is true the cake will be great and people will come to fill their plate. Those who hate cake will hate cake, of that there is no debate, but their voices can only be heard because all the others have full mouths, they are the cake lovers.
    But beware the cake lovers who come creeping with the dusk
    With fangs in maw and mighty tusks
    Given free reign they can outdo termites and bite a giant cake in twain...
    They are the cake lovers.

  4. This is exactly how I feel as I cope with my mother's death. EXACTLY.

  5. I am so sorry to hear that Jan. I can't imagine what you must be going through. I am sending prayers and hugs your way.


  6. loud and powerful message.
    these are part of growing pains.

    well done.



  7. Terrific write, I cannot fathom that kind of emotional trauma, but truly the write resonates amazingly


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