This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.
No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.
No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.
No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.
That, and the beloved’s clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.
~ Gregory Orr (How Beautiful the Beloved)
It’s interesting
Not having seen myself through the eyes of dismissal in a while
Rediscovering the faux-concerned face
The wince of denial
The condescending voice and syrupy tone that assured me:
“No, you can’t. You couldn’t possibly. You’re just
Not
Capable.”
Recently, I watched that happen
Recognized it for what it was – a smackdown –
Laughed inside
And denied *them* that power
By saying softly,
“Well.
Watch me.”
Copyright ©2015 C. Mitchell
Here in the place of my youth
My muscles unknot
Joints easing spine lengthening brow unfolding like a lotus
Years running off me like rainwater –
Brain quicksilver and fertile
Adult teeth dormant, actors waiting in the wings
Feet flashing and chubby legs pumping
Lungs full of bright air
As I run, joyous,
From one kingdom to another
Here the queen
There the jester
Another, the destrier with silken mane and flared nostrils
who goes, noble, to defeat or victory
Leaping forward and on until the dusk,
That quiet shepherd of my days,
Herds me gently towards home
Under streetlights waking one by one
Along cooling pavement
Past cars, ticking and settling as they shed the day’s exertions
Slower now, feet dragging
Limbs weighted with the beginning of weariness
Watching the blinking dance of fireflies
Smelling the grassy, cooling earth
Hearing other screen doors slam behind their charges
Then quickly, propelled by the warning whine of mosquitos,
I slip through the door and pull it shut
And arrive, a stranger
with the scent of the wild world still on me
Into this pocket of yellow lamplight
And laughter
And the warm smell of dinner curling
Like a halo
About my head.Copyright ©2015 C. Mitchell
Here in the place of my youth
My roots draw deep
And the earth is dark, and moist, and nourishing
Here I am most myself
Most connected with a lost past
Here I feel my strength
Rising in me like courage
Like joy
Here the wind brings a secret knowledge
And sunlight, instead of burning
Is brilliant hot wine
Warming as wassail
Bracing like brandy
Here, time is an unfinished story
Slowly unfolding its measured loops
Revealing only parts of the wholeCopyright ©2015 C. Mitchell
Gigglepants 