The Path To Open Sky

When I run my fingers through my hair

Feeling tired even though I just woke

I sense the nearness of my dampened heart

Subdued into a dull thump, thump

Like a cat’s tail lazily tattooing the drywall

My heart used to spring and jump

Youthful and full of hope

My legs would stretch out in front me as

Though the very road were my own

The houses, the picket fences, the sheds,

Hillsides, woods, road signs and quiet, morning-time lakes

All mine, all yours, all ours

Strong, straight-backed

Tinged with arrogance

A beautiful adolescent who had never felt the

Gentle, constant weight of time

Not cruel, not harsh,

Sometimes painful, yes

But always there, leaning into me

Like a vine creeping up my windowsill

I tried once to pull the vine down

But it had grown sticky and resilient

Clinging to the glass with such intention

That I felt compassionate

And left it there

Like I might a spider egg whose soft,

Cotton sack pulsed with trembling life

Repugnant, fascinating – deserving, nonetheless

In a shot at life

A life that, one of these days, would scatter with the four winds

And multiply

So I turned my back on the vine

Believing I could ignore its constant, creeping thoughts

Its pregnant and swollen desire to slowly, slowly

Choke everything it encounters in its path

To sunlight and open sky