Balancing Act

“…yet in the gray, shimmery air

of our best intentions, sometimes
the easy lie, the forced resemblance”

—Stephen Dunn

Because it was late afternoon
and I was in no hurry, I stopped to
listen to birds gossip in the trees
as the leaves turned back and forth
in the breeze like clapping hands.
I let my mind wander a bit

down the crowded lane we call
memory and I saw the girl
I was—just becoming
a woman, learning to leave
behind the skeletons in my

gothic closet because I was tired of
wearing black and drempt
of flowy, flowery things
like scarves and peasant skirts

trying on Bohemia for size
if not yet living there.

And I had a longing for a
big, wooden table, old and worn
with layers of paint showing
through chips because the surface
had seen many meals served
by patient hands and
much making of art had

nicked and scarred it because
creation is a messy process. Eventually
I found that table and bought it and
brought it home and lived with it
for years. I had a crushed velvet hat
and listened to Joni Mitchell and
put flowers round my room.

I had the pieces of my small dream,
sometimes all at one time,
and yet in the end there were more
fare-thee-wells and the dream
modest as it was
didn’t seem enough

or was perhaps too much.
Either way I lost the trick of
the thing, the balance. How we
live on this edge of glass
perpetually on the verge of
falling into the drink.



One response to “Balancing Act

  1. I can identify with this… I had found my “groove” in the bohemian world of the late 80’s… but now, it has changed… it seems little more than a “fashion statement” these days…


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