78

While I’m working my tushy off to get a post done, I thought I would share a piece of writing of which I’m proud.

Thank you to B.W. Ginsburg of Rest in Piece for inspiring me to share this work.  I’ve read her book, Rest in Piece, & it was wonderful.  I highly recommend it!  I’ll be writing up a review shortly.

The Melancholy Dane Review published this poem, “78,” in 2009.  All rights reserved (but, if you’re so inclined, feel free to reblog!!  🙂 ).


My fingertips pitter pat the leather coated lead
of my baby blue steed
and we neatly slice the air in the winding valley of asphalt.
The once majestic mountains
were reduced to puzzle pieces
by the cataclysmic assistance of man,
and leaves seem to burn to this day.
These same smattering of oaks, cedars, and pines
stood aside to watch the granite
disintegrate into ash all those decades ago
on the whim of a generation that
could not,
would not,
look beyond where their footprints would end.

I coax my combustion converting chariot to a halt,
it will patiently anticipate my return.
Every measured step I place between myself
and those ties that bind me to the present,
struggles valiantly to detach me
from fast-flying moment called “now.”

Narrow walkways wind
through the pitted and scarred trunks of trees,
but no, not these.
These follow the will of someone else
who charted these courses on their choices.
What I seek is a way
devised of my own mind.
It may be covered in leaves,
hiding wild beasts
or even barricaded
by the corpses of the forest.

No matter.
This will be my track,
this path I give birth to on the dirt,
and I will nurture it with utmost devotion.
For a few hours it shall be my child,
my corner of the sky
untouched by others,
until today creeps back like a dense fog.
That haze of today.

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