My lace wool knots with a mere glance
leaving me to unravel bonds
as life does by my inattention.
Today a driver saw a laundry bag moving in the middle of route 7 and stopped to investigate. Two small dogs were inside. Someone had tossed them in the road to get rid of them instead of taking them to a shelter.
At the rescue the pup looked up at me with big eyes, and I cried. She put her paws on my chest and licked at my tears, demonstrating a huge capacity for forgiveness.
Weariness has tainted my ability to forgive people who don’t comprehend that the sanctity of life extends to all creatures.
I wonder, will they ever understand?
“I’m in love!”
At Kelly’s announcement, both of her officemates share a glance and grin.
Lane is the first to bite. “Who is he this time?”
Kelly smiles, the dimple appears at the corner of her mouth, and her hazel eyes sparkle. “I don’t know his name, but all this week he’s been on the same train as me. He gets off at the Pentagon station.”
“Temporary transfer,” Megan says.
Kelly’s smile falters. “Don’t say that. He could be the one.”
“Oh, hon, they’re all the one until they aren’t,” Lane says.
“That’s why it’s important to seize the day,” Kelly says, her smile once again firmly in place.
“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” Lane says. “But maybe you should go one week without being in love.”
Kelly plops on her chair and shakes her head. “Being in love is like being on a roller coaster. I feel alive. Even on the down bits. Giving up being in love would be like giving up on rainbows and unicorns.”
Megan suddenly feels envious of Kelly’s infectious romantic optimism even if she doesn’t understand the involvement of unicorns. What would it be like to be infatuated again? To have those butterflies whenever Mike appeared? To flirt? To think he hung the moon rather than the all-encompassing heartache of losing Jess? She glances at the picture of the three of them. No, even with the sadness and fatigue and loss, the accumulated shared years of love and living could never be swapped for a burst of infatuation. She knows first hand that life contributes enough peaks and valleys without turning love into one.
April 1st begins NaPoWriMo. If you want to participate, here’s the link.
Prompt: “Kay-Ryan-esque poem: short, tight lines, rhymes interwoven throughout, maybe an animal or two, and, if you can manage to stuff it in, a sharp little philosophical conclusion.”
Later, I thought
as ideas pried me
away to webland
where hours mislaid
drinks with friends
some words too
photographed a flicker
forgot about later
read a story
me in a photo
so many laters
dial the number
I won’t tell anyone.
How your mind reaches for 2 pm and you feel relief you’ve survived another day, how you know moments before, glance at the clock, and it’s always just near, allowing you to retreat, and file.
You were kind to me once, in a thistle-bodied way, aggravated yet demonstrative, clutching and pushing away, teaching me the gray area because I was stupidly naïve and accepted a black and white world. You knew there was no black, no white, just slate, crumbling and leaching.
I won’t tell anyone.
Of your talk of alcohol and pills, on how a warm bath speeds the slowing, how sleep comes and life does not.
But I will speak of spring, the golden narcissus, forsythia, how the sun peaks higher, how the days grow warmer, how the music of birds rises with dawn, how it all passes far too soon without our aid. I will tell you that in all of the sadness, there is kindness and hope and gentle sun-drenched breezes and people who walk instead of run, who smile, who take your hand and wish you joy. Even when prickly, you made me believe in this world; now it’s your turn to believe in it as well.
You made them smile.
Alone, you clutch life, a handful of sand, trembling from your grasp.