Swing

Upside down is a matter of perspective

Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!

I’m so happy you’re here.

This week’s post comes from The Hanged Man, a card that urges us to consider when other perspectives might be available.

You can find my previous post around this theme here:

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Lately, I find my life split between two points of view: I spend my daylight hours writing and editing poetry, and at night, I work in the service industry. It’s a rhythm of solitary and social experience that feels good to me.

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Contents:

1. Canaan Road

2. Jungle

3. Dear Trump, You Have My Empathy, But Not My Vote

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Background music: “Cardinal” by The Lizzy Co Show, now streaming everywhere

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Canaan Road

I took the long drive, way up Canaan Road,
Named for rejection of God and his plan.
I listened to the rattle of my bones
In silver Chevy Lumina sedan.

The Canaan Road is long: we drive uphill.
Interminably climbing to the sky,
A ticker tape parade of farming fields.
(Milk bottles on the stoop, each peaceful night.)

Wind riffles heads of hay like Bible leaves.
Crickets draw bows: they harmonize in time. 
The cows share warmth with sweet, notch-eared kitties.
Farmers rise early, long before the light.

When I came tumbling down that Canaan Road,
I had to relearn all the things I know. 

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Jungle

Did anyone out there, as a small child,
Listen closely in bed, to downstairs noise,
Trying to judge if anger would arrive,
Based on footfalls landing on creaky joists?

Some of us are animals, born to run:
Birds who drop from the nest before their time,
Giraffes who fall out of their mothers’ cunts,
Shake dizzy heads, then run off, toward the light.

There is a jungle made for animals
Who need a little extra help to soothe:
In this jungle, we keep our hearts so full,
It flushes out the pain that has no use. 

Come live inside this leafy, calm jungle. 
There is space for you here. Bring your bundle. 

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Dear Trump, You Have My Empathy, But Not My Vote

Please, come have a coffee with me, let’s chat.
How was your day today, did it go well?
I know you feel like you have to attack.
I can relate, our childhoods sure were hell. 

You are the fourth of five, I do believe. 
Hard to be one of many, but not last,
Not the one where they got it right, you see,
Almost perfect, but still failing to pass. 

Did you grow up constantly criticized
By flaring-tempered parents, just like me?
It trains one into a vigilant eye.
It turns one into the moral police. 

I wish I could give you a fresh, new start,
And see you grow up with a soft, clean heart. 

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Please consider a small donation to my fundraiser to support the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

I will be walking to raise funds for AFSP this October to celebrate both my birthday and my continued existence on this earth after multiple attempts on my own life. I am now healthy and strong enough to walk, so I walk.

Please click below to share the link or contribute to my fundraiser: