riverwrites

I don't have to have shoes

Prompt: what you don’t have to have

Note: written on a cold winter night in mid-December

 

I don’t have to have shoes. Cold mud is my least favorite sensation, seconded by a cold damp hem on my jeans that knocks against my bare ankles when I walk, but both are bearable, and neither lasts too long.

I so much savor the freedom I feel in my heart when my feet are bare that it is worth it to me to bear the discomfort of cold mud and damp hems. When the ground is cold and muddy, everything about my body is miserably uncomfortable. I mean, it’s spikey, icy rain that creates the muddy ground after all, and I don’t like how that feels on my nose and in my bones.

I stray. My point here is that I don’t have to have shoes. I have thick soles so rough surfaces do not bother me. In contrast, I find that the many textures of the world serve me with miniature foot massages all through the day. Tingle, mingle, surprise! Hot, cold, tiny prickles, dull, wide thumps. It makes me aware of my environment and puts me in touch with the interaction between the earth and me – even the every day dull moments that make up my life. I get this constant loving touch from the earth all through the day. These sensations coming to my consciousness through the soles of my feet provide for me an awareness that gives me a certain kind of energy that pulsates in my soul

A secret massage – a dancing soul – oooh! Such joys!

I don’t have to have shoes, but I do have to go barefooted!

Gone

 

                      

Gone  

Who are those kids in that picture?

Do you remember them?

 

They are us

from four very different places

united in one,

and scattered again

into many.

 

We collided for one small moment,

meshing the sounds of our laughter,

the thoughts in our head.

 

Touching

tender flesh to tender flesh

we knew no past; we dreamt no futures.

 

For a moment,

we were one.

 

Did it hurt when we split apart?

I don’t remember, but I think

it was inconsequential –

a natural movement of time.

 

I think it happened like an exhalation.

 

Where did you go?

What happened to me?

Where are the others?

 

Calloused flesh

now separated by thousands

of unnoticed exhalations,

broken pasts,

longing for touch.

 

Those kids are gone.

Do you remember them?

 

Fading Photograph

She took the rose from the singer’s

lips

and held it between her teeth.

 

She teased him with her smile,

the twinkle in her eyes,

then slipped into the crowd

and vanished

before he ever got her name.

 

 

The crowd is gone, but the image remains

                           etched into the silver paper                           

of a fading photograph.

 

As the sea turned to sediment,

she to dust,

time changed the colors of the season

and the shape of a woman.

Family: The Many Parts

In Unison:

We are a fragmented unity. Like Picasso’s paintings, we are a broken, mismatched collection of parts that have been carefully assembled by the creator to present to the world the image, in our case, of a family. Like the figures in Picasso’s works, we are identifiable by the viewer as the intended image: family. And, like Picasso’s work, we are made up of straight lines, sharp edges, pointed, unbending angles, and unbalanced parts.

 

Sister #1:

I didn’t mean to break the rules. I didn’t mean to get sick. I didn’t mean to get divorced. The paths in my life just didn’t curve the way Mother and Daddy intended them to; I just couldn’t see the yield signs or the stop signs, and for some reason, my foot got heavy and I sped through all the yellow lights. Mother and Daddy were strong, though, bold and solid and impossible to erase. They kept me glued to them; they didn’t let any part of me fall away. And to my credit, I learned well. Look at me now, goddamnit, I’ve kept my own family together in spite of all the hardships that ripped at my heart!

 

Sister #2

I just wish everyone would be as happy and content in their lives as I have been. I like the rules and order set forth by Mother and Daddy – they made life easy to understand for me. I always knew what to do, where to do it, and how to do it – no questions or confusion for me. Everyone keeps shifting, though. Changing, moving, twitching, flip-flopping. It drives me nuts! Why do they have to ask so many questions? If only they would follow the map prescribed by Mother and Daddy, they would see that there really are no questions to be asked. They keep saying and doing and thinking stupid things. I just don’t understand.

 

Sister #3

I’m the one who broke the fragile family vase. I think Dad kind of liked the explosion, but he would have preferred it, had the pieces fallen silently and in slow motion. I know he wished the process of gluing it back together had been more effortless. Mom was pissed about the shattering, and she resented giving up her glue to the project. I’m sorry about that, but I love the broken lines; they are proof that the vase has been a part of our lives. Honestly, the vase would never have been complete in the first place had I not chosen to breathe that day.

 

Mother

I’m so tired. I keep putting things in closets and closing doors; I keep sweeping the dust under the rugs. I fix the girls’ hair and iron their dresses, then, as soon as I turn around, one of them has pulled out the pins or crumpled the hem of her dress. I see that someone has opened a door and spilled the contents of the closet, and someone else just walked into the kitchen and spilled some milk. And that youngest child, I just can’t seem to keep her dressed at all. I organize and tidy, close and seal, arrange and polish, but things are still a mess. I just want everyone to get along. Please don’t say that; please don’t do that. The photographer is coming today. Everyone, please, just sit still and smile pretty! I’m really looking forward to having a nice picture to hang on the wall.

 

Father

I am so damn fortunate! My parents and siblings and I, we didn’t have a pot to piss in, but we sure had fun with each other. And you know, you’re never really alone in life – you are born into a family, and you die out of a family. Children are the greatest gift of all. My parents had a lot of them; and I’ve been blessed with three precious girls. Hey, what’s for dinner? I hope it’s not a bunch of green shit.

 

In Unison

We are a fragmented unity. We are broken and we are fixed. Though the parts are not smooth, the pieces don’t all fit together quite perfectly, and our whole is not seamless, we are a complete work. Like Picasso’s paintings, we are grotesque; and we are priceless.

Divorce

I have a clean slate in front of me. I have a clean white sheet of paper and I can write my own story however I want to write it. The whole world is open for me and I can do anything I want. I should feel free and ecstatic. But I don’t.

 

It’s the void, the blank, the unknown, the emptiness that makes it feel less than victorious. I know what I’ve lost, but I have no idea what I have to gain. It’s the not having a plan or a dream or a vision that makes me feel frightened. But that doesn’t make me a loser – just lost maybe.

 

I need to refocus my thoughts so that I can see this new emptiness as exciting potential.

 

How long does a person need to lament disappointment before she can stand up and walk again? It crippled me and I will never again walk like I did before, but I will walk again. I can only know what it will feel like and where it will take me if I stand up and try.

 

I need to have a mantra that can serve as a compass – pull me back on this track of thinking every time I start to waiver and fall. Yes, being free of him is bigger than the pain. Even without a dream or a plan, being free is huge. I think I need to just identify this new freedom – the blank page is not so empty when I understand that it is freedom I have been given. I have always treasured freedom; how ironic then that I can not recognize this as freedom.

 

I am the victor because no one can ever destroy or take away what I hold most dear and those are all the intangibles – my relationships with my children; my relationship with God; my integrity; my theology and philosophy; my mind; my faith.

 

My dreams are gone, but he didn’t take away my ability to dream. And now, without him, my dreams will not be stifled or ruined. They will come; I trust that they will come. I will ask for them and ready my heart for their arrival. I welcome this emptiness because it means that when the dreams return, no old thoughts can cloud them.

 

I am free. Thank God, I am free!