Fate is a cruel and proficient potter
forcibly
spinning the wheel
of anxiety
lifting misfortune like a cutting tool
Having kneaded my heart
she lays it on her wheel
and gives it a spin.
What she intends to produce
I cannot tell.
Every morning the curtain rises
I step out alone on the empty stage
and look out at the empty auditorium
I deliver my soliloqy
the words echoing in the emptiness
take my bow to no applause
and walk off alone as the lights go down.
I am....
tall and gangly
with no sense of grace or wit
never at ease in the world
stumbling and falling from
day to day
searching for something I'm good at
some Talent, some Knowledge or Expertise
that sets me apart and makes me unique
----nothing----
I don't really want to be The Best
Good Enough is good enough
still, no matter how many Quests I go on
no matter how many dragons I slay
I still come home without my Grail.
So it astonishes me and pleases me
to no end
when you call me in the morning
and tell me I'm beautiful.
A creaky crackly sharp sort of day
where the snow doesn't smush, it snaps at you underfoot
where the trees, the poles, the naked branches of the bushes
are all covered with a dusting of frost and
everything
is in pure white dress
and the sun is so brilliant it hurts your eyes
the light bouncing and burning from bush to house to tree to
the steam rising from your mouth
like a giant kaleidoscope
until it seems like the whole world is gleaming at you
and the sky is such a brilliant blue
that you feel your lungs turning shades of navy and cerulean
with each kaleidoscopic breath because there's
NO WAY
that so much blue can possibly stay up in the sky
and it is so quiet
sshhhhhhhh
that you can hear the tiny tinkle of the ice crystals of your breath
as they drift gently downwards
stunned by the intensity of the day
and way down deep deep inside you
a tiny little thought opens its eyes
stirs and stretches
its wings fluttering against your soul
and a soft slow smile comes unbidden
