Tag Archives: starting over

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.

SAME OLD CABINET

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Same Old Cabinet

In my kitchen, the cabinets began
springing off the wall.
Behind their closed, crooked doors,
seams had separated, and
steadfastness slipped away.

I moved deliberately,
opening doors with care,
stacking dishes gently.
I was tentative and alert,
eyes fixed on the cabinets’
shuddering sinews.
I wanted to bolt.

The weight of their fall, I knew,
would break me with it.
I imagined myself,
broken boxes where
my body used to be,
The wicked witch, only
striped socks and pointy shoes
to show for myself.

Even then, I doubted. I discussed
the situation with friends: “Are you
seeing what I’m seeing?” They nodded
and said, “We told you this already.”

I called the carpenter. I learned the cabinets
could be fixed, but first I’d need to empty them.
I weighed out danger verses
upheaval before telling him yes.

On all my flat surfaces, I built
wobbly stacks of plates and glasses,
jars and cans. The carpenter left behind
gouged walls and a fine dust
that filled my lungs.

Outside the kitchen’s empty, ugly landscape,
I organized the chaos, carving out space
to eat, and work, and dream.

In the carpenter’s shop, the shaky seams
met with glue and screws,
And I came home to find the cabinets
hanging again, straight and true

That day, and the days following, I had no
desire to put everything back.
Then, I couldn’t quite remember
how it had been. I suspected the cabinets
had been mounted upside down.

Eventually I tucked it all back in.
The new arrangement was different,
but I had to admit, it was good,
and maybe, even better, than before.

My space is now safe and strong and stable.
Nothing angles out at me, threatening
to hurl a single dish or all of them at once.

But now, every time I look into the kitchen,
I still see those cabinets leaning.
I’m still running my hands along the seams
between the cabinet and the wall.

I’m not sure how long before
my eyes believe what my head knows;
how long before I stop waiting for
it all to come crashing down.

And now you’re home too, this old shape of you
that’s had a fair amount of screw and glue
to stand
you
up
straight.

I’ve gotten used to my peaceful cairns,
and I’m not sure how to move about you anymore.
I’m sorry to say, that most days,
I don’t even want to try.

What my head knows and
my heart believes are two different things.
When I look at you,
you’re still swaying.

-Chali Davis