Wild Greens
*
It is times when there is little happiness to be found. It is times when I move through the rooms of my house like a caged animal, pacing. Seeking what. Seeking to dispel what. When the people I love have shuttered the windows of their souls against some bad weather and sought the comfort of their own solitude and show some intention to remain there.
I am better off left outside at any rate. I am a poor host at times.
Standing at the back of the yard in the fading light, I flex my useless hands and bite my lip and wish for something like rain.
*
I am going to learn how to inhabit this place without wishing for it to be something other than what it is, without trying to numb it or fight it. Any of the numberless gimmicks I have long resorted to in my efforts not to face my own dark reflection in the glass.
I'll just sit with it.
Breathe.
What do I got to lose?
*
We got a bitterness in us that grows like a weed.
We got a glory, too.
*
posted by tearful dishwasher at 7:28 PM
5 Comments:
You manage, by some magical gift with your words, to say so damn much stuff with just a few words.
Ah, but the bitterness grows like a....well, it grows like a weed, eh?
And that damned glory is like the ficklest rose that demands to be tended.
I've got a yard full of dandelions and wild strawberry and hornets.
I gotta stop writing in your comment box and start writing on my blog.
Interesting focus--
"I flex my useless hands and bite my lip and wish for something like rain."
--Great image and phrasing
Enjoyed the read.
I stumbled upon this while wandering the web last night, Dish, and it struck me as being visually up your alley:
Flashpoint
Pleasant juxtaposition of image and text.
Post a Comment
<< Home