Perhaps I’ve traveled too far. Perhaps not enough.
Perhaps traveling is not about geography but traversing the soul.
What I believed was the truth bore me down the river
With rocks and rapids until
the falsity turned the river into a stream and then
a dry trickle.
I missed the truth because what I thought was important
–the white spiral-bound book I’d written–
still lay on the shelf
as 75,000 words of blood squeezed
dry of white lies.
Ma Chienne, Chloé
Ma chienne a un cancer. Elle est très malade.
Elle ne veut pas manger.
Elle ne peut pas rester debout.
Elle n’agite plus sa queue.
Alors, c’est meilleur de me souvenir
Toute qu’elle a fait
Pour nous faire rire.
Elle a aimé ses promenades.
Elle a adoré ses jouets.
Elle pouvait nous faire sourire.
Elle a donné la chasse à
Les oiseaux. C’était drôle.
Elle se glissait très lentement,
Elle essayait d’être silente.
Et puis, tous d’un coup,
Elle s’est jetée, comme un chat !
C’était cool.
Maintenant, nous essayons de
Se faire confortable.
Nous mettons son pull favori
Que j’ai tricotée pour elle.
C’est d’une couleur des framboises.
Le pull la fait chaud.
Est le pull la donne l’aire belle.
Nous sommes fortunés
D’être venus de secours
De cette chienne, Chloé.
Mais en fait, c’est elle
Qui est venue de notre secours.
A bientôt, Chloé.
Tu me manques!
Nous te reverrons
En paradis.
Free me from negativity.
Independence, a nativity
Heading to serenity
To pick up ingenuity.
Marching to infinity
Soaring over calamity
Throwing out virginity
To seek my creativity.
Holding out divinity
Jumping to illegitimacy
Parity? A rarity. No charity.
I’m out.
© Kathryn Atkins
I like this quote too. It’s from Page 79 of Ready for Anything, but it’s such a lovely way to bisect one’s world, and gain a perspective that is so easy lose in the busy-ness and doing-ness that define today’s culture.
More on being and doing later. In the meantime, I think this E.B. White quote rocks.
“Who is E.B. White?” you ask. E.B. White (you will find from this website) has written some of the most wonderful children’s books of all time. Charlotte’s Web, Stuart Little, and more.
“Blind Tom” Meets “Dog”
“I’m tired of pulling this load every day.
I’m tired of being a horse.
I’m happy to meet you, I would say.
But my horsey voice is too coarse.”
“I gotcha, Mr. Horse. I’m so done being a dog.
I’m hungry all the time. Mealtime is a slog.
For just one day, I’d like to play.
“Fetch” sounds so good! I wait for that day.
“You’re a dog. I’m a horse.
We’ve both got four legs, of course.
But our fates are very different.
Our purposes, diverse.
Being a horse or a dog—
I wonder what is worse?”
“You’re Blind Tom, you fool. At least you have a name.
I don’t. I’m nameless. ‘Hey Dog,’ they exclaim.
My masters are many. My admirers are few.
The Railroad needs you but I’m as useless as a barren ewe.”
“Your man’s best friend! That’s never been my role.
You have a place at man’s side—that makes you whole.
I’m one step removed. A worker at best.
Sometimes I’m transportation. But the railroad is a test.
It’s over. I’m toast. I’m glue. The die is cast.
They won’t need horses. Those days are past.”
“Listen, Blind Tom. You’re a legend in your time.
You’re needed. You’re a fixture. And a worker on the line.
Your energy, your drive, your will to succeed
Are admirable, wonderful. You’re a great steed indeed.”
“Thanks, Dog. I hear you. I thank you for your trust.
I hope I live to see the end before I bite the dust.
This Railroad may be the death of me. One way or another.
But I will always think of you as a friend and as a brother.”
NOTE: Blind Tom was a real horse who pulled flatcars for construction crews on the Transcontinental Railroad
I didn’t know
I’d be a “ho”
When I was a little girl.
I didn’t plan
On being with a man
When I was a little girl.
I didn’t understand
When they put their hands
On my ‘woo-woo’ when I was a girl.
But then it began
The man paid for his hand
And I was no longer a girl, but a ho.
Mama always said
I was not being wise.
Mama tried to tell me
I was smarter than them guys.
That all I had to say was, “No.” No! NO!!
But you know how it goes.
They were deaf, don’t you know.
So, by then, I was below.
I had nowhere else to go
And I knew it was so,
I was a ho.
Mama tried to lock the gate.
But she knew it was my fate.
She tried to find me a mate.
She tried to anticipate.
But it was too late.
Her dream would have to wait.
Because for me I hate
That I’m a ho…
I didn’t know
I’d be a “ho”
When I was a little girl
I didn’t plan
On being with a man
When I was a little girl
I didn’t understand
When they put their hands
On my ‘woo-woo’ when I was a girl
But then it began
The man paid for his hand
And I was no longer a girl, but a ho.
When the train came through
Looking for cooks,
I said I could cook
And I showed ‘em my books.
Sad for me, my looks
Made the men that were crooks
Suffer me my fate, you know…
You’re not a cook!
Not the way you look!
And so,
I was no longer a girl, I was a ho.
I play music as I pass through my day.
Sometimes it’s harsh, and sometimes easy-breezy, hooray.
Each day it’s a choice to:
Curate the chords
Making majors from the minors.
Nurture each note and
Relaxing on the rests.
Dive into dissonance
Forcing fortes and frowns.
Invite
Pianissimos seeking peace,
Soft pedals pushed down.
Channel rock ‘n roll?
Relish Rachmaninoff!
Meet Miranda or Mozart.
It’s a joy, it’s an art.
The best news is
The music I play.
Is totally mine,
To make my day my way.
‘Twas three weeks before Christmas and all through the towns.
People wore masks that covered their frowns.
The frowns had begun back in 2020 Spring,
When a global pandemic changed everything.
They called it Corona but unlike the beer,
It didn’t bring good times; it didn’t bring cheer.
Airplanes were grounded, travel was banned.
Borders were closed across air, sea, and land.
As the world entered lockdown, flattening Covid’s curve,
The economy caved, and folks lost their nerve.
Through spring 2020, we rode the first wave.
People stayed home and tried to behave.
When summer emerged, the lockdown was lifted.
But away from sanity, many folks had drifted.
Now it’s December 2021, and cases are spiking.
Omicron has arrived, much to our disliking.
The last two years have brought sadness aplenty.
We’ll never forget the year 2020.
Now we’re nearing another holiday season.
But why be merry? Is there even one reason?
To decorate the house and put up the tree?
Who will see it? Maybe no one but me.
But outside our window, the rain gently falls
And I think to myself, “Let’s deck the halls!”
So, I gather red ribbons, garlands, and bows.
As I play those old carols, my happiness grows,
Christmas is not canceled and neither is hope,
If we lean on each other, I know we can cope!
We are early by six weeks. S/he (because they chose not to find out) and I are together in this. S/he and my son and his wife. We are all together, beating hearts to give strength to this new soul. To the four souls, six souls, eight, twelve, billions of souls that contributed to make this little life a life.
Birth. It must be soon. And the struggle to live begins.
We are waiting to hear. My heart beats with the baby’s. My heart murmurs, yes! Yes. YES. You can do this.
It will be stronger, we’d like to say. We will be stronger, ‘they’ say.
But dang!
Just yesterday, we did not know of this. Today we do. Today, we have a new reality. Thinks change. Then, they change again. We never know when we wake up in the morning what the day has for us. Today, it wants prayer. Beating heart prayer.
Be strong, little one.
Bring in your best self,
New as you are,
For your mom and dad.
We’re all here to help you
Be well.
Be.