when I was a little girl
I was taught
try your hardest to avoid
any difficult knot.
Tie your ties loosely.
So loosely they hang to the sides
stay as close to the shore as you can
to avoid swimming against tides.
But I have found that my stomach needs
to feel the thrill of the fall
and that my pupils never dilate
when I'm in between large and small.
When I am the middle
When I am in between
all my thumbs will do is twiddle.
When I am in the middle
I feel too little.
When I am in the middle
the mountains never move
when I am in the middle
there is nothing to prove.
They'll teach you-
There is an up
and there's a down
but
try to find the middle.
And in between lost and found
that's where you find the middle ground.
But I need to either be
high or low
I don't want to
the middle go.
I can't have in between
I must have yes or no.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
in August for John Keats I didn't die unrequited. I took a wife in August. My wife was wearing silky white shoulders holding out her bon...
-
Today I was interviewed for Poets United small stone: July 13th so many things for granted, taken: two kinds of silverware.
-
A woman's stance feet parted so that like a breezy window the mantle opened slightly lets in curves of salty air- but here there is no, ...
-
Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
-
At age 25 for Sir John Donne Down went San Felipe. Crimson and pale, rippling, clinging to it's mist. Oh, how that flagship hurled itsel...
-
and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
-
July 7th the face of a rose deflates our windowsill- not much of a garden. July 8th after the party- a painting is crooked I think someone d...
-
No one cares for me, because I once cared for you. futile attempts to invigorate the soil with hands un-gloved, dirty deeds to provide my li...
No comments:
Post a Comment