A Mess I was not Allowed

Unexpectedly ducks. The car slides a little leaving the driveway, winter rain making Main Street slick. We leave our Christmas ornaments up, subtle nods in the direction of a grace that is given to us all. A little cabin somewhere, tea at a Formica table, happily sinking to our knees when the other shyly asks. Morning is what passes and what passes is what comes again.

The ones who know what I mean? There are vast boulders on the trails up Ascutney, one becomes breathless before them, as if gazing at the Lord. Voices carrying over the lake, a certain reluctance to divulge secrets there despite the presence of comforting moonlight. Images of past lives gather now, slipping through the various walls I have built, reminding me that this life is neither an end nor a beginning. They circled the city, they angled away to the west. Empty parking lots.

Empty promises. The mailbox door hangs open, a starling peers inside it, flies away. A point comes in one's study when they no longer need to read Shakespeare, or that is the suggestion. My new therapist laughs when I mention the shoe museum in Toronto. How he suffered, my father, and how we all suffered with him.

One and two are different! She is angry at me because of what I represent and so I rest quietly in her attack, sad when she leaves that I could not do more. I was hungry a lot as a child, I don't talk about this much, what can you do. Kittens crushed by the station wagon backing up, a mess I was not allowed to bury or study. Oh my gravel heart, oh my frost flower soul.