bmichm
A snapshot of memories. A frame dusty in the corner crevice of the attic. Tucked away from sight as the memories flood the dusty floor boards and I think of you. We were kids back then, but so photogenic as if sweeping the dirt out the door with our smiles.
Under the rug. Under the waves. Swept into a pile left on the floor to step in as I traverse from room to kitchen to room to kitchen to door. I track the dust through the halls marking my path. Where I've been. Where I have yet to go.
If I had control, would I used it? Give it away? Harvest it like wheat in the fields and bring it down like the scythe to cut up the grains. An iron first upon the table. Control to take and take and take. Or control to give and gain and replenish. Would I use it for good or evil?
A measure of a life's worth. Or is it? I am beginning to doubt the almighty power of success. Doubt its ability to make one person's existence seem worthwhile. And then there is the elusiveness of it. What really is success? And can others judge it, or is it in the eye of the individual?
En route
beyond the mountains, laying
buried in the valleys as
they topple the landscape
crushing in on itself
unsure what wave to ride
out next.
Looking back, I ask,
where am I going?
Then consider: does it matter?
I'll get somewhere eventually.
"I wish... more than anything... more than life..." Ever seen Into the Woods with Bernadette Peters? I watched it in a theater class and instantly fell in love. I'm not talking love in the mushy gushy sense, but love as in a life-changing, my-life-would-not-be-complete-without-it sense. Act I closes with a "they all lived happily ever after" while ACT II begins with "Yeah, right, dream on Disney losers."
In band class curved in endless rows of chairs facing the pivotal source of instruction, my hands turn black. Clasped around the slim neck of my mother's flute with my fingers hovering over the sticky keys, I glance down and notice the distinct color. My hands tarnished by the forty-year-old instrument weathering years of floating melodies and dust-flecked auditoriums as millions of eyes stared out. They knew.
If only such a thing existed. I used to think it did when I was younger. As a supremely superstitious child, I would avoid certain activities that I did before I got sick or had a bad day. I did not wear this one shirt for a year because I threw up at school the day I happened to be wearing it.
I read this book years ago cover to cover about Greek Gods, Demigods and Demons. It was actually a thrilling read although it was written as an encyclopedia. I find it vastly interesting that there are other religions where gods are not perfect although they are still historical in nature to the time period.
Something is right in front of you. Reach out and grasp it. The shape is familiar. You've seen it before. Just feel it in your hand and turn it over to feel its contours. What is it? Well, isn't it obvious?