Tuesday, February 5, 2019
Sunday, February 3, 2019
red robin
a sudden voice in my head i'm sorry i haven't been there for you... and i can't tell if the voice is my own or the voice of a friend in a different state or if, finally, my mother might be apologizing from below her lost well of ashes.
despite my longing, i realize that, of these three, mine is the only voice with any real weight behind it, any muscle available to do the heavy lifting. it is my blood salting the guttural click. a sucker for platitudes, yes, but the anvil of accountability is yoked solely to my own throat. beg and row, the answer remains the same. the necessity to dust off my skinned knees is a reality. i spit on my fingers and rub the saliva into the wounds i've received.
then, starting off again, maybe on roller-skates this time, down a path drawing me nearer to lessons unsuspected and unforeseen - a robin in a tree - the wind lacing itself in quick figure eights around my raw, wet knees. it feels amazing.
despite my longing, i realize that, of these three, mine is the only voice with any real weight behind it, any muscle available to do the heavy lifting. it is my blood salting the guttural click. a sucker for platitudes, yes, but the anvil of accountability is yoked solely to my own throat. beg and row, the answer remains the same. the necessity to dust off my skinned knees is a reality. i spit on my fingers and rub the saliva into the wounds i've received.
then, starting off again, maybe on roller-skates this time, down a path drawing me nearer to lessons unsuspected and unforeseen - a robin in a tree - the wind lacing itself in quick figure eights around my raw, wet knees. it feels amazing.
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