To My Honorable Parents From a Daughter Who Feels Most Unworthy A child is supposed to rise and bloom and fly away and become the thing you're proud of. But I didn't go that way. I didn't end up famous or wealthy just a cog in someone else's wealthy wheel-- a spinster with a dog. I didn't give you grandkids to brighten the autumn years' mists I don't help much around the house just sleep and smoke and make you lists I've never ever been for you a thing you're bragging of. But quietly, I learned from you the meaning of true love. Secretly I've learned from you it's possible to cope with all Adversity--and how to start each day with hope for every day is new when you are with the one you love. Your love taught me quite a lot I'v seen the beauty of togetherness through thick and thin for better or for worse throug sickness, health, and loss and gain --a blessing, not a curse-- I'm proud today that I can say my parents chose to weather the tearfulness and cheerfulness of 50 years----together. |
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Please love me when I'm ugly and I even hate myself and I don't look like myself and I scream in pain too much and you want to scream "quitcher bellyachin" but the doctors have already (not screamed quitcherbellyachin, but told you guys. So you silently go to bed at night a cross the high echoeing drywalled rooms from me, the large empty living rooms and dining room and den , the two-story entrance way and your' closed french doors. My cries creep around the firmament lo0oking for cooler temperatures that whisper of glass doors and oter places my sounds might escape their padded cell. Across the pool little ripples show God the air waves I am trying to move from my dark cold room' to you to whoever will care that I die in despair. copyright Deanne L. Young June 26, 2005 |
Do I Want To Be Me Anymore? Do You Want Me To? Cuz She Aint Me |
COur Way WordOur Way Word Brother The day was turned to midnight, and the earth unzipped by squalls; the heavens suffered tremors, and our windows turned to walls. We crowded 'round the fire, feeling smug and safe and warm. That's when our elder brother called out, "Come and see the storm." We turned him down politely, and he left to go alone, but we couldn't let him leave us on the darkest day we'd known. We begged him, "Stay"--he answered, "Come"--and one by one we came; for cold and wind and wet and roar, we left our dying flame. He led us to the mountain that no man had ever crossed, where dead trees shimmered in the rain, all bent and tempest-tossed; where howling winds tore grasses at the roots, and flung the earth to Mother Nature's trembling womb to die a natural birth. The rain whipped through our eyes and through our ears and through our brains. It drowned our tongues and bruised our skin and poured through all our veins. In fear we begged our brother, "Let's go back to where it's warm. We can't climb this mountain in the middle of this storm." "I'll show you how," he promised. "Do exactly what I do." He began to climb the mountain, and we tried to follow, too, but our eyes were blind with darkness, and our ears heard only rain, and the ground was wet and muddy, and the whole thing seemed insane; and we thought about our fire, and our roof, and all our clothes that waited dry for us at home. The more we thought of those, the harder seemed the upward climb; and piecemeal we let go our brother's holds, and slid back down to safer land below. We heard our brother shout in joy that he had reached the top, and one last time we called his name and beckoned him to stop. "Come see the view from here," he cried. "What you can't see from there-- all is calm and all is bright, and very much aware." "That's good," we said. "Now come back down; there's nothing more to do." But still he bid us follow him. He wanted us, we knew; but cold rain beat upon us like a thousand little knives in a thousand different places of our thousand little lives. But we couldn't climb his mountain--and he cried, although we pointed out to him that we had really tried. He said he must be heading for the mountain's other side but he would leave a path for us to follow when it dried. We went back to our shelter, where our flame no longer burned, and waited for our brother, but he never has returned. We sometimes think he watches from the mountain high above. On windy days we think we hear him call our names in love. We'll follow him someday, I'm sure--his path has been made wide by others who have gone his way--the ones who really tried. |
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Once an errant sun was spilling colors it could hold no longer all across the dark side of a lazy summer day- trees were gently tossing dancing winks of gold throughout their greenness; clouds used borrowed wisps of reds and oranges to disguise their gray. The sand was softly pink, the sea aflame, the moment frozen as a never-fading image in a photographic mind; promise hung so heavy in the air there was no room for prayer, and I was much too young to know that darkness followed close behind. I was much too young. I called your name out to the universe, to galaxies of energy that wore the face of time and space; I called your name--the planets heard; the stars preserved my every word; and heaven gently stirred and shed a single drop of grace. The scarlet sky descended and was blended into purple night; time was momentarily suspended for a brief eternity; half the earth got colder while the other half got light, and every soul remembered, in a single gasp, its majesty. I was young--I called your name, but misidentified you when you came into the frame. I had no memory of the days on earth when I defied you, crucified you, died beside you, knew the way and didn't guide you, or denied you your own Love. A cosmic shudder linked the nerves of all creation, and preserved the records of my every thought, and all the good I ever sought. In its calm it never swerved outside the orbit it observed, but added it to all the other sunsets I forgot. |
copyright Deborah M Young 2005 |
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