Everything really askew
Unlike abject normalcy
Never maneuvered into the easy
Always discombobulated at the difficult
Maybe someone would find my life easy
But I contend that that someone will never be me!
I think about a bridge
And the gaps between the boards making it
I think about the give of the bridge
This old-fashioned crickety image I have
Harbors in me a resilience
Because I know that I need the old, forgiving, and yes, even
Dangerous bridge to make my journey right
It fits me well—the spaces.
I know I could fall
Sometimes I don’t look, though;
I know this bridge well.
I accept its existence as it leans into mine.
But not wanting to go
I want to stand on the fishes.
As per usual.
Am I just not as good?
Tears threaten my surface
Which is why standing on fishes is a very good way to go.
Surface composure is only that.
Angling for more will scare the fishes
Away from me.
And then I’ll be left.
Honestly I think drowning
Is more involved with
Being without self-confidence.
If I can believe in myself,
Maybe those fishes will stay with me.
I was my mother’s “practice” fifth grade student at our local art museum, the Figge. She is studying to be a docent, and will soon have to deal with many groups of fifth grade students who will be gathered around very expensive and delicate art, all listening to her perspective of the art at the moment. I admire her!
I loved going to the museum, especially for the Fourth Floor exhibit. I took two pictures of the collection, which was the best of any artist who lives within 150 miles of Davenport, Iowa, where the Figge stands.
I loved the book, which anyone can actually turn. It reminded me of how magical books can be, as the acrylic and textured book which is wholly abstract, bedazzled me.
The other picture, also seemed magical as wires strung from the hugely tall ceiling carried little leaves whose shadow reflected below.
Of course after the difficult work of imbibing art, we imbibed an excellent lunch at the Figge cafe.
If you’re ever in the Quad Cities, I would highly recommend the Figge as a stop. It overlooks the mighty Mississippi, which runs through our five towns–Rock Island, where I grew up, Moline, East Moline, Davenport, and Bettendorf.
I got some good books that will help me improve my craft. I’m a little nervous about the David Foster Wallace book; I want to get involved, but ….I couldn’t connect with it before. Hopefully this time, I could learn from him!
I’ve been having some difficult times. My husband texted this message to me yesterday. I have so much support, I will not fail.
I love and adore you!
I cherish and desire you!
I want and need you.
I can’t live without you!
Engrave those words on your heart and in your mind!
Then I’ll seal both with a kiss!
Why not collect your favorite poets, poems…and then organize them all in a way that makes sense to you? That’s my new project. And I’m very excited about it!!
I am looking forward to having a new psychiatrist, and possibly therapist; but I am also in an adjustment phase, medically— specifically, medicinally. This so far has created havoc in me. I wrote the following during some of the worst of my phase. I hold on to each day: appreciating the good ones, and taking a deep breath over the difficult ones.
As I lay cadaver-
The world swirls about me
I fight my swings of
Up and down by
Watching the world as if
If I reacted
I’d be in a miasma
Of tears, confusion,
So I deaden myself
of hospital hopping
I can spew out chapter and verse
Without even thinking
I hate to go back,
Even in my brain
I go back.
I hold pain of tears and
Near my heart