two years, ninety-five days.
my fingers are not unused to the keyboard,
although holding a pencil requires more dexterity than
thumbs on the screen of a smartphone.
my hands shake in nervous anticipation.
the thought that someone out there
will revel in, or at the very least, enjoy,
reading what i once more
choose to write.
(written 31 january 2022)
when i pluck up my courage
when i become more brave
i will leave everything behind
and join the circus
i will begin as the mid-life-crisis attraction
banal to spectators, yet strangely
the most sought-after performer
of hot-flash wails
and hormonal mood-swings
in running mascara
i will bemoan the coming of 55 and 60
as i bound around the stage comedically
in search of a cane to ease
my soon-to-be aching joints
i will attempt to regain youth in
contortionism
perfecting clown-like standing splits and bridge
in the name of showbiz i will dress provocatively
in sequined bodysuits that highlight
my knobbly elbows and knees
sucking in my protruding gut
after many years, hundreds of shows,
i will transition
and become the self-assured
story-teller
reminiscing about days past
regaling a tale of young love
as gamine acrobats
theatricize the exquisite
blossoming of life
my rheumy eyes shining
i will have a wreath of flowers
in my white curls
and a rocking chair to sit upon
i will smile benevolently at the
audience, who hang on my every word
at the imploring of the ringmaster
himself a crotchety mustachioed fellow
who desires the limelight
even more than i
i will urge my nonagenarian body
to assume the form of a spritely
dancer
that which i always wished to be
he will entreat me to join him
in a waltz
and the spot will trail us around
the ring, the only star in the dark
night of the big top
(written 15 september 2019)
he holds her
the arch of her back, her heart
in the palm of his hand
they stand
barely moving
she gives him leave
to proceed
they sway
the reach of his leg
the wīnd of her arm
as it curves
in that manner
peculiar to the embrace
the cross of her feet
the twist of his hips
all this anticipated
with great consideration
and then the music
begins
(written 1 september 2019)
advice to self
when having a crisis of faith
and of character
meditate
contemplate
reflect on the transience
of all things living
and already expired
clarity?
confidence of conscience?
conundrum of conviction?
or
is there nothing
fraught with naught but
the thought
that the indecision
brought about by
years
both too many and too few
to make a mistake
in that moment
just stand still
and find comfort
in the fallibility
and the imperfection
the knowledge that
others have tried
and
succeeded
and tried
and failed
and still move forward
into the unknown
(written 14 august 2019)
(re)imagining the mundane 