In the spirit of doing something that scares me!
I’ve been writing poetry for several decades now, yet I’ve never been brave enough to share it. I’ve never even read it out loud to myself! My favorite poetry, as I look back through a huge stack of notebooks, comes as a stream of consciousness writing practice, unedited, just the flow of emotion and sounds. Last night I went to a poetry open mic and shared this poem.
My legs were shaking, I was sweating, my head felt dizzy, I could not tell if my pacing was off or if my voice was loud enough. It reminded me of walking from the bathroom to my bed in a hospital gown just before surgery…exposed, vulnerable, ready to go under the knife. In this case the knife would be public scrutiny. But inside I connected to calm, to my center. There was a deep part of me nodding with approval, gleeful, enjoying a spotlight I have never allowed myself to be in for as long as I’ve lived.
I’ve always shied away from attention. I’ve always dreaded public speaking. I would do anything to avoid speaking in front of a group. I’ve pleaded with bosses to let me avoid presentations. For my own wedding I staged a tandem bike ride for me and my dad so I wouldn’t have to endure the humiliation of walking slowly down the aisle. So afraid of being met with prolonged glances, all eyes on me. Everyone thought it was such a fun idea, the crowd was thrilled…but deep down I knew it was a cover up. And now every time I see that photo of me riding with my dad, there are teeth that lock down on my gut. It doesn’t matter that no one else knew. I know. There is no hiding from myself.
I will go to tremendous lengths to avoid being stared at, scrutinized, or judged. I’ve put countless hours into preparing and scheming ways to stay out of sight from people. The amount of energy devoted to this pattern could be measured in spans of moonlight. This has been a lifelong, crippling, anxiety-producing habit that I’m ready to kick to the curb. It no longer serves me; it never really has done anything but to serve as a constant reminder that I am not valuable enough to be seen or heard. It is debilitating and preventing me from expressing myself and reaching a full bloom as a human on this planet.
So, this is the reason we do scary things. To challenge limiting beliefs that keep us from living our lives in the truth of our spirit, who we truly are meant to be. What makes us unique. Not necessarily the best in the world at what we put our hearts into. But if we do pour our hearts into anything at all, that is our immeasurable and miraculous contribution, our peace offering.
Many thanks to Caroline, Karen, Matthew, and all the rest who let me quiver and read aloud, then cheered for this first time poetry reader. This was an unforgettable stamp in the timeline for me.
Two straight spines
made a cross
sitting tall on a strong back
an Arabian
Scanning the desert floor for
Coyote, for rock
Silence made a good partner
answering only to heart’s truth
Ocotillo swords
blunt barrel cactus
swirling weightless silt
from front and rear hoof
everything changing
Brother
didn’t exist out there alone
it was only inside rooms and
tears and sorrowful looks
No Mountain seeped sadness
saguaros and palo verdes calmly
looked on
Nothing to fear or cry about
all’s the same to us.
I loved the continuity of life outside
the unchanging
the Bigger Than Me
comforted by the little impact I had
on this desert
I could kick a stone, I could fall down
against the dirt
That’s about it.
Our relationship was well-defined.
Simple I had a knowing of where I stood
what I meant, how small I was
INSIDE
The grown-ups were wrecking balls
casting themselves from wall to wall
unstable home
lives shook
something felt forever missing changed
halted
It’s when my mom stopped breathing
She died that day
Death took away two souls
I’d spend all my days outdoors
infatuated with Escape
Solace Peace
peace filled me as desert soil
as hooves crunching gravel
as hot breath hitting my skin
lungs eyes
burned forearms and hands
red neck
wandering into dry creek beds for cooler air
and shady stone
My horse’s back
salt line the only remnants of her sweat
snaking white line
I’d jump down to pick up a heart rock
for my mom
it was the only way I knew
to let her know she was on my mind
communicating in shapes, symbols, not words
I couldn’t get words to rise
Anger would set in
I wished so much that I could take
his place - their only son
I was a dispensable daughter
one of three
I wished it were me
Who’d vanished
All but blood clumped strand of hair
his rat tail.
I played his song on the piano
still pulls at me
I spent so much time with the horses
my legs grew long and knobby
my hair became coarse and sun-dried
my skin was dark my t-shirts sunbleached
my feet toughened like hooves
my back and hind legs strengthened
to carry load
hay bales water pails
wheelbarrows of manure
my speech slowed to a walking gait
my ears and head twitched to meet new sounds
I could run fast and jump
I was so brave so confident
Outside
Inside
I was terrified I felt the sway
of my world like a pirate ship
the floors crept with whispers
creaked with despair
I suffocated in unspoken grief - a lead jacket
issued to the unwilling
We could have used life jackets instead.