Tuesday, September 27, 2011


We walk through the land of the certain.
We cascade through days
Like it's

And oh, we are certain
Of what we feel
And positive of
When certainty breaks
Like glass.

And I, the viper
And he, the snail
And I, the butterfly
And he, the bear.

We know of everything
Until the dawn
When proportion is
And feeling is

But feeling shifts like
Flicker of streetlights
In Amsterdam
And Country Gables.

So I, the child
And he, the adult
And I, machine
And he, the operator.

Dizzy up the lines
Like it's
Oh, certainty is


Tuesday, September 13, 2011

My Lion.

Often in life we are encouraged to face fears, to chase lions, to humble ourselves and be in the center of a scruple we wish to run from. Sometimes those are cages of our own making; the inescapable reality of humanity and the woes it has inflicted on you while you inflict it on others. Other times those lions are mere creatures that look more frightening than they ought.

This fear, this lion, was something I had to face. So I walked with confidence and reliance on my ability to enclose myself with brick. Oh, you know the travesties of one who has far too much emotion--but not I, the solid, the brick, the wall, the red flag woman. I feel only what I choose. I am in control.

If only such a thing were true. But no, I am the paux de doux with a smile like a china doll. I am joyful, but I am porcelain. I am solid, but I am glass. I am that wall as long as it is not that fear that makes my walls incinerate on contact. (That fear, that lion, was the thing I loved most in the world. That dance, that song, that structure, that comfort... that death of self, the death of it, the death of a love that was never meant to last.)

But Oh, I faced it, and I stared it down.

That lion and I shared smiles about how I could not tame it. I am no circus keeper you know. That lion is wild and free, and his mate, my fear, is lovely.

The lion belongs in Africa, in some exotic and beautiful land. Oh my fear is beautiful, and I love the thrill of the chase. But she, my fear, is graceful next to the lion of Africa--and they together are a pair of paradise.

So I stand knowing I faced and smiled at that lion like a porcelain doll, and my fear and I shook hands and danced in a crowd of familiar and strange faces. But I relent the chase. For the Lion is in the beautiful lands of the exotic and new, but I am just in California, and I wear the feather's of the birds he likes to eat.

So I relent; especially on the outside.

Roam, lion. Roam free.