Monday, May 1, 2017

unveiling green

Three o'clock in the afternoon is the bewitching hour
the neighborhood lies silent
robins do their robin thing
goldfinches light upon
early May branches
in search of food
and gold
perhaps this is
why I am drawn to the atmosphere outside these ancient windows
like goldfinches
I'm in search of gold
this June I turn
fifty-nine to a woman is remarkably unremarkable
Some quantum rule
applies to aging for woman
wear this not that
want this not that
emote when appropriate
eat smart
balance everything
respect the inner journey
be kind to yourself'
there's the whole
change the world
which is about legacy than effecting change
(my anarchist bent)
the world is a much different place than the world I knew in my childhood
how convenient
landed upon 'my childhood'
what a clever and circular route to begin
a story born out of today's disregard for the illusive perfect moment to begin a story
when is that exactly?
I have been waiting to write this story for as long as I can remember
from my crib
I dreamed of being a writer
ok, well first I was a dreamer
the writing was etched in the grain of wood floors captured in the enfolded warmth of my father and the smokey-feline light of my mother
someone should have stuck a #2 in my mouth in lieu of a pacifier
my earliest memory is of a dream:
I was in my crib a standard flimsy 50's variety crib, with rounded fluffy cut-out lambs & clouds on the wall blanket pink and white gingham the window was right of my crib from which I could see the family station wagon a low-slung Pontiac station wagon with faux wood insets I slipped over my crib and out the front door down the sidewalk and opened the drivers door of the wagon adjusting myself in the seat I turned the key and began backing out of the driveway suddenly my father tore out the front door flinging the drivers door wide and throwing the gear shift into park as some unidentifiable car pulled in behind me I was vaulted into my fathers arms suddenly realizing I was dreaming or maybe a dream of dreaming dreaming of adventure
or escape
still the question
the bewitching hour has given way
six twenty-two
awake from a nap that left me disoriented and moody
craving something unnamed as the energy shifts in the neighborhood to a steady thrum thrum thrum
folks returning home from work;
Betsy across the way pulling into her circular drive
Chris and Kevin rolling up their drive next door
the birds are cautious and quiet
I'm disoriented and moody--remember?
my days are more observation than engagement
it wasn't always
like that