'Acorns'
Acorns
Someday we will walk together
along this path in wonder
at the same leaves on the ground
that small oak
which neither of us trod upon
instead allowing it to put down roots
for years, there in the soil
it has now grown tall
and we can sit in the shade of it
well before we thought was possible
rest our heads against the bark
and say how lovely is the day?
my little cat, Minion
Tortoiseshell
Little black cat
with the one orange paw
curled tightly in a ball
on top of a shirt in the laundry basket
that I wore yesterday
discarded there on my way in from outside
no longer with the warmth
but perhaps still the smell of me
this is one reason she has chosen it
She tries to ride the bow of my hip
at night, while I sleep
but my ship it rocks too much
while I am dreaming
turning over and over and over
she tries to cling with claws
then we disagree
and the tossing turns to Neptune
she has to admit -it makes her a bit seasick
so the laundry basket, it is
begrudgingly
And the other day - when I was feeling a bit up and down over social anxiety.. It's a strange feature of that - that I will reach out to someone and it will be very good - or I will attempt a hard task or lesson on something and it will also be very good - but then the next moment I often feel even more anxiety that has to calm down, like a fire that has burned too hot and now everything is boiling to the top of the pan. So, I've learned that feature and now work to dig myself out of those feelings as soon as I recognize them. I congratulated myself, that night, which is a necessary part of reflecting on it all, for how many times I pick myself back up, ten times in an hour it feels like sometimes, no really, it was good, you are doing well, just get out of this feeling, it's an emotion, and one we have to keep working on...
and this flowed out:
Pompeii
When I fall down unseen,
within these
hallways, inside my head
I get back up, ten times in an
hour
over and over, or perhaps just one
handspring that
was barely noticed
but each time I work my way up
and ask
which way the wind blows
that makes me feel so light
such
glass in my bones
but at least glass has weight to it
this
is more like volcanic ash
reduced to ghosts and fragile
shells
from fires too hot to handle
ready to blow away
unless I capture it
in my palms and carry it to a safe place
so
gently, where it may perhaps
against all reason - become rock
again
I must take them, these fires, in small pinpoints
where
they rush through the surface
needing to take a few moments to
cool down
so that is what I am doing
when I am inspecting
the ground like this
with my fingertips, furiously sketching,
seeking
looking for a place cool enough to take grip again
and
hoist myself up
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