One week ago this Friday, I experienced the cycling accident, that landed me on crutches. Since then I've been out with friends, & family several times, & checked in with our local doctor too. Am making progress for sure, but big bones, such as hips, when they become deeply bruised take a bit of time to recover. Due to the awkwardness of being back on crutches, it has been a challenge not to
let myself get bummed out, as I had been on them when I was sixteen, for a fracture of the right tibia, which is the long lower bone attached to the knee, that injury was due to my own teen aged
stupidity. Like any accident, there is always a time for growth & learning, for me it is short & sweet, when cycling take it as seriously as driving a car, & never,
ever travel too close. Conversations can always be continued at a much later time, & to have a conversation in regards to a cycling exposition,
outside the ER is ultimately preferable & the goal.
Amen
Being I wasn't able to make it this past Wednesday to our Boston Writer's Group session, I had been very kindly encouraged to "keep writing", by our wonderful teacher of who's advise I take most seriously, which of course I did, & of which I have, just completed a free form poem that came to me late this morning. It was inspired by the writings of Geraldine Brooks & her book, People of the Book, of which our Sisterhood of B'nai Shalom, in Putnam, Ct., had decided upon for our winter read, & recent springtime discussion.
The included poem, I would have never expected, yet this process is not unheard of for me, as since childhood, I have been closely guided by my muse that speaks, thus, this ongoing Poetry a Muse In Motion Project, which has visited upon me just recently-
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Condo Tales and Orbs of a Family Tree
She was C. H.'s daughter
of whom she never knew
blue eyes, true blue
true of her not knowing
ever knowing
Who is this man, a phantom
of her, always
met his mother so she told
to
a daughter,
of these modern times-
You have his eyes, I know, I saw
his picture, in my grandmother's
his mother's
home
There he was so perfect
blue, lapis blue, lazuli eyes
blue
"You've named me for him"
such she told
"Oh yes, to honor, as for him of not,
would ever be."
So crazed at times
she knew
her
to be
bibicial
medieval
evil, when goholms, goblins
phantom times of shadows
never knowing
why
or how
this came to be
So old now, but still, not old enough
to know better
The illness of the mind crept in
so long ago
with labels
numbers
textbook talk
medications
layering
veils
protection
of
whom
the dearest asks, and wonders
still
to this day
C. H.'s daughter
Octavial, midway, almost
a power waining
yet still strong
a sibling speaks
"I need my armor."
yet who will write this
critter's/creature's past
the story told,
untold
Branches sway
this tree has
nursed, repaired
it's storm wrought wounds
The daughter now, aligned
of
Miriam
wells of tears
hope
salted wounds
wanderings
nurturing, mothering
goodbye to phantom mysteries
of hellbent strikes & screams,
for much
now
cracked
patched
and
past
your power gone
I loved you then
and love you now,
but love
unkind at times
and wounds so deep
to speak-
you'll scream
again, again
As you recede
to layers past
C. H.'s daughter
stately
broken
sad
alone
You've made it all
your home.
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This truth that speaks from deep within, I ask not for, though yet it gives abundantly & kindly to figure out, what it is I have pondered. "Poetry is Truth" s.a.
For thus another day, this so completes, Poetry a Muse In Motion, my project for today.
Amen
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For additional information regarding Geraldine Brooks, check out her page at-
© Mother Lightning of Mother Lightning's Peace Garden
