Friday, June 6, 2014

strength inside broken chains

there's a song that asks
where do the children play

and it rings in my ears as I travel
because what I had
is like a swing
with a broken chain
dangling crooked
on a lovely summer day

such a sweet, supportive
playful thing
imperfect in its ability to pinch your fingers
while sending you skyward
upward to a magical mysterious
magistracy, almost...

I would love
to get on again
and the wind sings
to the end tendrils of my hair
spinning them in circles
carrying dreams out of my eyes
that never left
my lips

till my children come to play
and sit upon my ankles

they remind me

the way "nothing gold can stay" by Robert Frost
reminds me

is a word for chairs
and filing your taxes

Life well lived
does not fit that word
a Cinderella slipper
and I won't cut off my toes
to fit that slice of glass

So every possibility
however far fetched
is played out
every broken heart string is
strummed on
to send vibrations down spinal chords
instead of music chords
till I remember

quite clearly

it is not just a journey
about me

we are in this together
which is how it should be.