so what is it like today...
so what is it like today to be resentful...when i look up at the grey sky here at the park this afternoon, at the vortex of a white could peering through to the blue above, i can say shamefully, i'm ignoring this moment in hopes of things i want and don't have. and it feels painfully good, like putting straight alcohol on an open wound.
but that just happens. i don't like the park and i don't like birthday parties, but for some reason i have been placed here, chasing around my young child...i follow her curly head, her ringlets beginning to grow longer and longer from the nape of her neck, and i want to kiss her but i don't, i let her do what she wants without trying to dull my own guilt by slowing her down with affection. i sit on the park bench, pull my right leg under my left, and look at the mommies beyond the park, far from me. i have a great reason not to talk to them...i'm chasing my own unreconciled youth around a playground while battling a temporary lack of joy. i would have nothing to say anyway.
my middle child, Zoe, in her ruby shoes, scuffed at the toe within a week, runs back and forth from playing soccer with other girls and swaying on the monkey bars. she is a powerful force, hair in ponytails (red elastics) and her head falling to one dominant side already. the grass clearing where she played soccer moments ago has some green spots, some dead spots, dandelions sprouting up and those flowers you make a wish on. i would wish, but i am out of breath. at first glance, i hate that grass field, because it has failed to be an endless patch of uninterrupted, flowing green. parts of it are ugly, unsightly, unwanted. where is the grass field pixie that should be written into such an afternoon...
she's right behind me. that grass field makes me think of something and i smile. i manage a smile from behind my guilt over not embracing this gift, this peaceful place to be a child. i close my eyes when the little one is close enough to me that i can feel her busy presence, then i remember being happy here once. i want that again.
i hope when i open my eyes i see this place differently. trees that rain pine needles. red swings filled with hooded children, yellow monkey bars that nurture Zoe's fearlessness. sand that feels soft, deep enough to sink and disappear into if i'd let it happen. there are even round fixtures on which to place your shoes before you walk into the park. behind me there is a steep hill, i imagine standing on that hill and wanting to roll down it, but i gave up on such things long ago because i fear being so dizzy that i lose the ability to see rightly. beyond the steep hill sit empty ball fields.
my son, the oldest, will be playing on those fields soon. for now, he tackles another boy who carries a mini football under his arm and uses the other arm to keep his opponents away. they all laugh as the ball carrier is taken down...upon this boy, one boy after another collapses. i hear childish giggles, reminiscent of my son five years ago under a wide-brimmed hat, but i sense the rush of the nature of boys in the huddle. to my son, he's just playing. to me, blood is pulsing through his veins and he is so alive, everything is still a discovery, and i am wishing again.
i know, though, i know me by now. this will pass in a couple of days. i don't exactly know where it comes from, i have never liked the park, i can't remember when it ever sustained my attention or excitement. these lulls, they make me want to be a better person.
i grit my teeth but the light in the tower does not go out. it is there night and day for them to come closer to.
so what is it like today to recognize daily miracles and have apathy?
alive. i am alive too, my blood just rushes in a different way.
but that just happens. i don't like the park and i don't like birthday parties, but for some reason i have been placed here, chasing around my young child...i follow her curly head, her ringlets beginning to grow longer and longer from the nape of her neck, and i want to kiss her but i don't, i let her do what she wants without trying to dull my own guilt by slowing her down with affection. i sit on the park bench, pull my right leg under my left, and look at the mommies beyond the park, far from me. i have a great reason not to talk to them...i'm chasing my own unreconciled youth around a playground while battling a temporary lack of joy. i would have nothing to say anyway.
my middle child, Zoe, in her ruby shoes, scuffed at the toe within a week, runs back and forth from playing soccer with other girls and swaying on the monkey bars. she is a powerful force, hair in ponytails (red elastics) and her head falling to one dominant side already. the grass clearing where she played soccer moments ago has some green spots, some dead spots, dandelions sprouting up and those flowers you make a wish on. i would wish, but i am out of breath. at first glance, i hate that grass field, because it has failed to be an endless patch of uninterrupted, flowing green. parts of it are ugly, unsightly, unwanted. where is the grass field pixie that should be written into such an afternoon...
she's right behind me. that grass field makes me think of something and i smile. i manage a smile from behind my guilt over not embracing this gift, this peaceful place to be a child. i close my eyes when the little one is close enough to me that i can feel her busy presence, then i remember being happy here once. i want that again.
i hope when i open my eyes i see this place differently. trees that rain pine needles. red swings filled with hooded children, yellow monkey bars that nurture Zoe's fearlessness. sand that feels soft, deep enough to sink and disappear into if i'd let it happen. there are even round fixtures on which to place your shoes before you walk into the park. behind me there is a steep hill, i imagine standing on that hill and wanting to roll down it, but i gave up on such things long ago because i fear being so dizzy that i lose the ability to see rightly. beyond the steep hill sit empty ball fields.
my son, the oldest, will be playing on those fields soon. for now, he tackles another boy who carries a mini football under his arm and uses the other arm to keep his opponents away. they all laugh as the ball carrier is taken down...upon this boy, one boy after another collapses. i hear childish giggles, reminiscent of my son five years ago under a wide-brimmed hat, but i sense the rush of the nature of boys in the huddle. to my son, he's just playing. to me, blood is pulsing through his veins and he is so alive, everything is still a discovery, and i am wishing again.
i know, though, i know me by now. this will pass in a couple of days. i don't exactly know where it comes from, i have never liked the park, i can't remember when it ever sustained my attention or excitement. these lulls, they make me want to be a better person.
i grit my teeth but the light in the tower does not go out. it is there night and day for them to come closer to.
so what is it like today to recognize daily miracles and have apathy?
alive. i am alive too, my blood just rushes in a different way.
