Fog Into Buckets

Love is buried under fear,

oceans of drops aching for

salt water –

how can I explain it to them?

even as my own mind refuses the truth.

I cast spells with my breath

that clear my sight for a movement,

but it’s like trying to shove fog into buckets,

or run water uphill:

all the forces I’ve been told are natural

course against my will.

Yet I keep hauling thickened air

and tipping it overboard,

sketching dams and dragging logs

to direct creeks,

and even as people shake their heads

and mutter its hopelessness,

I feel the strength in my arms

from lugging buckets and wood,

the quickness with which my brain

picks out alternate routes,

the thickness of hope I’ve built up.

I glance at the rivers

streaming wild and rapid,

and the grey forgiving wall of mist,

and smile at what the world has made of me –

wild and forgiving strength.

It was me that was built for change.

 

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Day 8: Perception

“Listen to this! Jess, listen! He’s saying “It’s so hard to keep this mouth on my face!””

“I really don’t think so, B.”

“No, here.” My brother skipped back on the song and held out his phone to me.

“It’s smile from my face.”

No. How can you not hear it?”

He played it over and over, utterly sure he was right.

I grinned at his conviction, then googled the lyrics to prove it to him. “See? Stuck in the Middle With You. “It’s so hard to keep this smile from my face.””

“Well it’s wrong. I hear “mouth.””

“Why don’t you listen again and try to hear “smile”?” Continue reading “Day 8: Perception”