Friday, November 1, 2013

Green Briar Park

In dreams they come,
  Slithering, flapping, 
Leaving dust and shards and feathers in their wakes.
  No scent, just flailing, viscous eddies 
More thought than force.
  And skies of mud, soundless.
Leaving in their wake
  apprehension.
To go, not go,
  I stand, and shudder, small 
And deep within my cells
  They push,  I stand.

Age 13.  Somewhere between baby girl, and half grown woman.  A simple weekend walk becomes a war zone.  The park, my destination.  I can see them; all long and lanky arms and elbows, legs and knees.  Raucous yelps of pleasure and something desperate.  All 13.  Somewhere between baby boy and half grown man.  Playing b-ball, at GBP.  I am not able to move forward,  I am too entranced; trapped between my desire to swing and repelled by their cruelty and derision.  They are in my way.  I don’t realize that this is the true beginning of who I am to be.  I will learn, in time that if, and when I want to swing, I am so much more powerful than they will ever be.

2 comments:

  1. Beautifully written, and makes me want to burst into tears.

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  2. This is beautiful. Absolutely stunning!

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