Floorboards

Floorboards creak under my bare feet

Inviting the past to creep up through

The cracks and crevices

Running like veins through

tarnished oak, splintered

with stories of pitter and patter

Touching the soles of soul after soul

Some desperate for the foundation

To open wide and swallow them whole

 

Long panels meet cornered molding

For the first time

It would seem

Unclear as to who provides the adhesive

Holding together

What can only be assumed to be

Destiny,

Longitude and latitude colliding

To form a perfect enclosure.

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Linger

I want to want what I have in my hands. Or the possibility – which is where I have always gotten lost. This is the sharp left turn that leads me to nowhere, for all things are at their best before they happen into existence.

How beautiful our expectations look in the dark. How shameful we feel when they emerge in the light of actuality. I prefer to remain in an in-between  world, one of shadows, a grayness. A passage where possibility lives in limbo, the sliver of space in the middle of what is and what could have been. I’ll choose not to walk through, lingering as the patterns in my eyes dance in the doorway.

A Rekindled Movement

The way the breeze makes the willow dance fills me with a kind of peace I wish I could bottle up for a time I know I’ll need it – when the chaos consumes me and I can’t escape the panic. I don’t know how to hold onto these moments. Perhaps they are not meant to be captured or controlled; the beauty lingering no matter how evanescent.

Somewhere along my journey I misplaced my movement. It left me for a little while, went dormant because I stopped feeding it. I forgot how to care for it, that it needed to be nurtured. That was my fault. Nevertheless it came back to me, waking slowly the more that I took the time to sit down with it and ask what it desired. Are you ready to come out now?  Do you have what it is you once thrived on?  Can you forgive me for allowing you to drift so far away?

I am discovering that despite how much I have changed, the things that once moved me remain recognizable. There’s an uncomfortable adjustment to getting acquainted with yourself. I am reminded of the depth in which I love and feel affected by temporary happiness. I had forgotten how easily I get consumed by the euphoria, mania, fast climb to the top of paradise. I had forgotten this because each time I am met with the fall, spiraling to the bottom of a high, I go looking for it in other things, other people. In myself – in my movement. And so comes the necessity to seek balance – the tightrope widens to make room for exploration. Somewhere new, something unknown, someone magnificent.

In a time when I became settled; unaffected and unintended – my movement slept. I became even. No highs, no lows, no need to find balance or walk a fine line of uncertainty. Without the drive to venture into unchartered lands or weigh out emotions, my world flattened. One note. One tone. Even.

As my movement surfaces, I become aware of the things I know for certain; I want to always climb up, walk across, dive to the bottom and look for doors to new places. To be moved, to be fleeting, to be like a willow dancing in the breeze.

Sequoia Roots

Frail branches look to the sky
for guidance.
A grey demeanor makes today
Seem all the nicer
with twists of contrast and control.

Swirls of swaying sea green backdrops.
Raindrops
brewing around outstretched arms
Aching and sore
Soaring in circles are
The ideas of all that is and the

Premise for what was to be.

Growing spaces between
Fingertips and toes
Spread wide
So as not to get too close to
what was.
The blue breaks, leading us to
Where we find ourselves
Again and again.