Friday, March 14, 2014


it occurs to me that nothing I ever saw or lived through belonged to me

although until this moment i believed not only that, but even, so childishly, that i created these things

the small weathered shack at the corner of the road leading to Grandma's house with the sign on it
“ Apple Orchard 2 km” bright red block letters on a large white square

for 30 years and maybe more (before and after I travelled that road) and the field behind it
and the woods in the near distance and the sky behind that and behind that, every dream I had about the wide mysterious world in the back of my mind

imprinted over this dirty reality

and none of it mine

not even Grandma's bright, practical, red-lipsticked smile
so loving, so kind, she, like a brightly coloured bodhisattva in heels and pantsuits

the fields of my dreams, the taken for granted love of my childhood
offered to me like gifts, passing by and through me like a wide and steady river
each drop offer by god freely and with love

god tucks his child into bed at night
and laughs kindly at her innocent arrogance
and stands ready and silent and still and glad for her slow coming awakening

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