Meditations

A landslide brought me down.
I did not chose who would pick me up.

Who were you before your parent's were born?

Who was I meant to be.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeee-- the thunder rolls over the desert.
The rain reaches tides along the coast.

Who am I without you?

Emerald leaves turn red as the blood count rises.
                                                                             drip.
                                                                                     drop.
                                                                                             red.
                                                                                                   ruby.
                                                                                                           pomegranate seeds.

How can I extricate myself from you, when you are the ones who polished me with your stories.

                                                                                                             Obsidian
                                                                                                   fills
                                                                                           my
                                                                               eyes
                                                         with illusion.

I cannot reshape what you have carved me to be.

I cannot fill the cracks
                                  
created
concrete
within.


Tools of love, redemption, betrayal, manipulation ...
manipulations


i

r
a
n

Miramichi

They
shut down the factory.

The pulp and paper mill.

A great big building
rusting
starkly
against the timeless river.

Trees grow out from the vents.
Vines cover the conveyor belts.
Blossoms crawl up the sides of the building.
And underneath the foundation, live roots pulse.

Nature takes it toll
over the abandoned
soul.

Sorry

Going up the narrow road.  The list of expectations, that have yet to be met, driving circles in my mind.  The apology list grows longer and longer-- saying sorry for things that have yet to come, people I know I will fail. The guilt grows darker, creates a shadow, a blind spot- a thump!

I hit a car.  I hit his car.  He has a nice car.

It's a reflex: stop, drive back, park the car, and step out.

Oh my gosh, I really hit his car.  His side mirror is on the road.

I am so sorry.

It's okay. 

I will give you all my information. 

Yes, let's exchange information.

I am really very sorry.