Condo Tales and Orbs of a Family Tree

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-

http://www.geraldinebrooks.com/

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