Home » Poetry (Page 13)
I wake up thinking
about all I have to do
and all I’ve done
never resting
or just there in the moment
but full of thoughts and regrets
and God comes to me
with a blue correction pencil
you know the one
that English teachers use
to point out
all the mistakes
and God draws flowers instead.
Return to the end of a
really cool video about
energy and intimacy
with God
in the middle
east or class or way.
God is the middle of something, maybe the night.
Right click on my own needs
and I am sure
that I was in college
where we were working on a project
to become.
Become what?
Doctors? Teachers? Lawyers?
Or just become.
Do they teach classes on that?
Maybe I’m in the middle.
Maybe that is the place to be.
Neither then or when
but here and now.
Perhaps you’ll find a way,
pretty much as a sign
of strength
or weakness
or God.
Once you have been there
it is all the same
after a while
anyway.
Every day I was in college when we were
going through
a good idea
something happened
that caught my head,
turned me around.
Maybe they do it on purpose.
Maybe they knew it.
Maybe it is part of the tuition.
Maybe the real lesson
is always to be found
between
and sideways
and never
straight on.
The path is the place.
The road is the way.
Remember?
You don’t ever really arrive.
Just keep moving
towards the goal,
towards the good.
Just keep moving
Forward.
Running away from
isn’t the best plan.
You’ll trip over
God knows what.
You’ll end up
God knows where.
Make your path towards
what you envision,
see forward,
seek further.
With each step examine,
is it in the right direction?
Does it build up or tear down?
Just like English motorways,
if you don’t aim yourself
at something approaching
where you want to be
with every roundabout,
you’ll end up 50 miles or an hour
away from
where you were headed
with no easy way to turn around.
Life is like that.
You may have a map
or maybe not.
But look out the window
frequently
so you don’t end up
stuck.
Why do we say it is
“civilization”
when we
tear down trees,
dig up rocks,
flatten hills,
evict the animals,
and build
a new subdivision
or a mall
or a freeway?
How is it “civilized”
or even human
in the sense of smart
in the sense of forward thinking
to destroy what is there,
to not live with the land
to remove shade
to remove our source of oxygen
to remove birdsong
to render the colors
into the grey
of asphalt
and the pastels
of house paint?
Why do we have to go away
from our homes
our “civilization”
to feel more at home
in our bodies?
We go to the mountains
to the seaside
to the country
to find ourselves.
We are lost
in the
“civilization”
we created
for ourselves.
Wouldn’t it make
more sense
to live with the land
to live with the
trees and wildflowers and birds and deer and opossum
and not tear it down
to grow our own trees and
plant our own flowers
and bring our own pets?
We say we like nature,
but only if it is on our own terms.
We like it if we can control it
and name it.
We shortchange our souls
to be civilized.
From raising myself to be able,
finally some sense has come.
I found out more than I ever had been.
Every day now I’m going to get
everything else
I was
either or both.
After all the work for you,
another child is learning how to be
a little terrifying.
And then I remember –
read the way home.
Remember that it isn’t
about making it so.
Right now is the point.
I look forward
to the time
when we see death
as graduation
and not failure.
I look forward
to the time
where we
celebrate
death
not in a dark way
but as a release
into the light,
The all
The ever.
Death should be anticipated,
prepared for
and expected
like births are
with planning
and parties
and maybe even presents.
Not like you need much
where you are going.
You can’t take it with you
after all.
Death isn’t so scary
that way
isn’t so foreign, so frightening.
Perhaps
Hallmark will come out with cards.
Hurray! You are mortal!
Happy death day!
Or
Congratulations! Your Mom died!
You must be so proud of her!
Death is a stepping from one country
to another
no passport required
no overnight bags needed.
Death isn’t something
to be afraid of.
Fear of it is.
I can’t carry it.
I can’t carry the weight
of a thousand bad days,
of a childhood hurt,
of the broken glass
of leftovers, lonely, alone.
I can’t carry it
for anyone
anymore.
I’m tired of doing double duty
as teacher
as mother,
as counselor
as confidant.
I don’t have training in these things.
I didn’t sign up for these roles.
I can barely carry my own
fears
and sadness
and pain.
I can barely carry my own
abandonment
and loss.
You’ll just have to carry your own
and I’ll carry my own
otherwise each of us will be
weighed down
bent over
broken
by the
stuff
that makes up
a life.
It is enough for one.
I don’t remember saying any vows,
saying I would do this,
marriage or otherwise.
I don’t remember anywhere saying I had to do this.
I didn’t sign on the dotted line.
To hell with compassion.
Sounds like codependency anyway.
Women are people first.
We are not things.
We are not toys or tools.
We aren’t something to use.
We do not exist for your pleasure or fantasies.
Our bodies are just the vehicles our souls ride in.
We do not care if our bodies are
too tall,
too short,
too fat,
too bony
for you.
We do not care if our hair is
too dark,
too straight,
too kinky
for you.
We aren’t for you, you see.
We are for ourselves,
first and foremost.
We are our own guardians,
our own nurturers,
our own teachers.
We do not define
ourselves
in relationship
to you.
We do not need your permission
to vote,
to drive,
to work,
to feel.
We do not need your permission
to be,
period.
We are not
objects to be objectified,
possessions to be possessed,
or fantasies to be fulfilled.
We are people, pure and simple,
and if you don’t
start treating
us
like that
then you are missing out
on half
the human race.
Stop trying to
get our numbers
and
get into our pants.
Start trying to
know us
as fellow travelers
on this Earth,
at this time,
with you.
THE BEAD
alone and complete is a prayer.
A strand of beads or fringe is a reminder to pray.
The hole in the center, a negative space
is to make us aware.
It is a balance of positive and negative
that sustains our lives each day.
To know the bead
is to understand the apex of creation.
To wear the bead
is to acknowledge the gift of life.
(This poem was behind the cash register, painted as a huge mural, at a bead store in Boone, North Carolina on King Street. The store has changed hands and the mural is now gone. I’m grateful I took a picture of it when I did, so I could share it here. I do not know the author.)
betsybeadhead 
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