Archive for risk

Old Favorites Revisited: Episode One: Mowing After Dark

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 25, 2010 by 1writegirl

I wear a silver chain around my neck bearing a Chinese character; the year of my birth. I don’t take it off to shower, or sleep, or jog or even when I mow the grass, which is after dark. Long after everyone else has put their lawn care products away and retired to the sanctuary of porches, living rooms, and television screens.

I mow quietly, my push reel mower making only a low, humming sound, and as I mow, I talk out loud to someone who isn’t here. I ask him questions and tell him just exactly what I’m thinking as I feel my way across the yard, around the edges and trees. “Love is a tightrope,” I tell him. I can see him in my mind balanced precariously, and I know if I love him too much, he will fall off, just like he will if I don’t love him enough. This is a test, and I wonder if there is a way to cram for it. I wonder, too, if it’s the kind of test you can re-take if you fail, and who decides these things.

By the time the moon is high in the sky I am finished, sweating in spite of the cool night air, sitting on the front step with my fingers wrapped around the necklace: caress, release, caress, release, like a dance or part of a rosary bead benediction. It strikes me that life is like mowing after dark, feeling your way as you go, with the likelihood you’ll run over something sharp increasing the longer you’re out there.

It represents something, this necklace, which is why I never take it off. Not a promise, or a dream, not even a wish for what might have been. Some might call it a memory. Others folly. Patience is a virtue, while stubbornness a sin. Is there a difference? I call it hope and it lives in a place between two hearts, where the grass only grows after dark.

Haiku #12: Brew

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on March 13, 2009 by 1writegirl

Love that’s pale, lukewarm
Is for those afraid  of heat
I’ll take dark and hot

November 17th, 2008

Posted in Meanderings with tags , , , , on November 17, 2008 by 1writegirl

 

My inbox remains empty. My phone is silent.

I cannot will you into these places,

though god knows I’ve been trying.

 

I am certain of very little in this world.

 

So I try to be honest with myself and others

hoping at least for a connection now and again,

however tenuous, however frayed and timid.

 

We all need someone to call our own.

 

We accomplish weeks of therapy in mere minutes together,

you and I. You have undone knots, months in the making,

without ever even touching me.

 

I imagine what miracles your hands might enact.

 

I might become a child again were we to have a month.

Who knows what years would do…return me to a state

of eager, hopeful, uninhibited innocence?

 

I like to think I might have given you something in return;

that I might continue to give.

 

Yet a kiss on the cheek does not a suitor make.

 

And fear is not exclusively my domain.