list of excuses
ribboned present presented
mail-ready, pre-sent
in the hands of god
swirling death surrounding me
don’t want to hear it
how do i work through
stress, grief, everyday mountains,
but you’re not able?
i see days through tears
gather up my girls in hugs
can’t you find your joy?
peace comes with jobs done
satisfaction of success
unwrap your conscience
someone else would leave it there
walk it home
or make a phone call crying
but I find no tears inside my skull
nor can I find a reason to stop
instead I hear my inner voice
telling me that I’m OK
(even if I seethe in pain)
I pick myself and the bike up
wipe the blood
fix the chain
and almost reach my daily goal
someone else would call me crazy
or tell me I’m too risky
but I have already fit that bill
lost my mind somewhere
along the bike path when I was sixteen
and I don’t care to find it
instead I hear my inner voice
telling me that I have a story
that my daughters will retell
proudly pointing to my bruises, scabs
as if they are their own
(their own strength,
carrying them forward
when they wish to turn back)
someone else would give it up
admit defeat
but all I hear is my inner voice
telling me that I am who I am
and (for them, for you)
I could never be someone else.
how ironic that as
i come around this curve
to fight this hill
with what little strength
my legs have left,
“A Candle in the Wind”
blasts in my ears.
it’s not that i don’t think i can
(oh how i know i can,
“The Little Engine that Could”
still my favorite book)
it’s my speed, hovering
like a coffee hot fudge sundae
on the path before me,
enticing me with what before
was effortless.
i push myself harder,
watching the odometer dip
below 10 mph for the first time
this morning, tears of frustration
popping out into my eyes
as Elton John tells Marilyn
how she didn’t know what
to do when the rains came in
(this wind blows it in now,
gray streaks of sky
and hollow clouds)
I see the light at the end of my journey
(quite literally, a stoplight)
and I push, push, push
until I have arrived, crossed the street,
and just as “Sky Blue and Black”
comes on, the black shadows
of endless boats dot the sparkling blue
choppy waves of water,
the perfectly beautiful view
for which I’ve worked so hard,
the perfectly beautiful song that,
as I coast down the hill,
brings tears of admiration
out from my eyes,
ready to rest on my
windburned, grinning cheeks.
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