Tag Archives: Letting go

Cadillac Mountain

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image by Casey Barber

Under the luminous moon 
of the equinox, I travel this 
quiet New England byway.
Behind me, a small possum sits 
in a twist of brush and bramble.

She’s praising Something 
– herself, fate, or God -
for running the gauntlet 
of my tires; how she did it
is a question for minds 
bigger than hers or mine.

Yet I’ve told her story out of turn:
First were frantic breaths
and heaving tremors
as she recalled her maze of terror:
the swirling black teeth,
the cold asphalt on her pads, 
the shocking graze of metal against
her coarse coat.
.
It's a shame that possums 
are solitary animals.  
No one was there, watching
wide-eyed and breathless;
No one was there, applauding
the blind luck and dumb moves 
that got her to the other side.

I drive on.  
North of me, at the end of another road,
a dark sentinel gazes into blackness;
where horizon meets the sea,
Cadillac Mountain waits for the sun.

I return.
It's pre-dawn, fourth of July; 
you slumber in your sleeping bag 
as I pass under festive banners 
on my way to the trail.

I stumble up the mountain
to wait for the sunrise, my soul
bounding and rebounding 
against your world’s low atmosphere.

I arrive in the final opaque moments;
others are here too:
in pairs in groups in close proximity.
We wait, and I wrap my arms  
around myself.  

There was nothing I could do
to stop that certain light; 
the urge to bolt seized like a spasm, 
and I tumbled across, blind and careless, 
careening into coldness, 
into tangle, into truth.

No one saw me when I crossed over;
the clapping I heard was not for me, 
but for the first rind of light that sent
shimmers across the waters. 

I sat, far into the new day, 
breathing the air 
and blinking at the light.  

That night, 
while everyone watched fireworks, 
I embraced Independence Day.

Releasing You into the World

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Bringing you into the world
was a half-cocked plan,
born of accident and bravado.
Of one thing I was certain:
I would be better than my parents.
My smart resolve soon fell away
into the ruts of their well-worn path.

From the Box Store of Beliefs,
I bought a large suitcase.
Around scratchy clothes and 
tight shoes, I arranged for you 
all the useless nothings 
Of Propriety and how.it.is.supposed.to.be.

I watched that unwieldy valise 
bounce against your new knees.
I knew this was best for you   
because Important Things are Heavy 
and keeping a grip on Big Truths 
takes tenacity and brute strength.

As the years went by,
The pillars of what I thought 
I knew, what I thought was true,
Toppled.  
 
I remembered
The dream of another way,
Of the path that says:
It is never too late to let go 
of the Warping Weight.

It is not too late 
For us
to slide that clunker 
out the rear car door 
into a backwash ditch. 

Now, I’m buying you a big bandana
and a stick.

I’m packing you a bundle
Of deodorant and daring 
and creativity and chapstick
and sriracha and compassion
and fuzzy socks and
the salve of let.it.go and 
the balm of how.it.could.be. 

I will watch you set off, 
A bright bandana ball bobbing behind you.

Yes, that will be a happy way to release you into the world.

The Art of Letting Go or, Stormy with a Chance of Seedpods

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Photo art by Tom Branch

Letting go is like
Letting go of honey,
or letting go of dirt 
under your fingernails after
an afternoon in the garden

Letting go is like
dropping a hot-handled skillet,
the imprint bubbled into your palm.

Or it is like lingering.
It is losing the scent 
from a lover’s pillow.

It is the slow melt. 

It is marking each labored breath
while feeling the planet’s rotation
under your feet.

Letting go is like blowing 
a dandelion into the wind,
a contrary wind,
that whisks tiny tailed wisps 
up your nostrils
under your eyelids
and into your ears.

Letting go is artless wretchedness.
There’s no beauty in it:
It is a roll in the mud and
a stumble through the briars.
But when you emerge, 
your dented grace 
and seedling peace 
will be enough.

Releasing You Into The World

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Bringing you into the world
was a half-cocked plan,
born of accident and bravado.
Of one thing I was certain:
I would do better than my parents.
My smart resolve soon fell away
into the ruts of their well-worn path.

From the Box Store of Beliefs,
I bought a large suitcase.
Around scratchy clothes and
tight shoes, I arranged for you
all the useless nothings
Of Propriety and how.it.is.supposed.to.be.

I watched that unwieldy valise
bounce against your new knees.
I knew this was best for you
because Important Things are Heavy
and keeping a grip on Big Truths
takes tenacity and brute strength.

As the years went by,
The pillars of what I thought
I knew, what I thought was true,
Toppled.

I remembered
The dream of another way,
Of the path that says:
It is never too late to let go
of the Warping Weight.

It is not too late
For us
to slide that clunker
out the rear car door
into a backwash ditch.

Now I’m buying you a big bandana
and a stick.

I’m packing you a bundle
Of deodorant and daring
and creativity and chapstick
and sriracha and compassion
and fuzzy socks and
the salve of let.it.go and
the balm of how.it.could.be.

I will watch you set off,
A bright bandana ball bobbing behind you.

Yes, that will be a happy way to release you into the world.