Shifts

The sky has closed in on me, presenting a grey shroud as if it were a much-anticipated birthday gift. “Happy New Year, now be subdued.” It is dark and I am tired both from lack of sleep and dreams that have haunted me like a helpless child just out of reach; haunting for sixteen months without relief.

She is a familiar spirit visiting me for some sin of which I’m yet unaware. The lodestone of my heart; I am doomed time and time again to have my decks shattered upon the rocks only to have them rebuilt and redisconfigured.

9:25 am. A newspaper wakens me to a new year and alerts me to the successful relationship of ——- and —— and my mind is glad but my heart pulls the grey shroud from the sky and wraps it round like a blanket, tight as the grave.

Had I known ten years ago where I’d sit today, would I have set the same course? Would I have chosen safer seas, free of sirens and mysteries?

I do not know.

All I know is that any glimpse of land is more mirage than reality. We few ships on this endless sea flash code through the night. We ask each other and the stars whether we made a mistake in choosing not to winter in safe havens. The ice is packing, screeching as it collides and closes in with the sky until our sails will be torn, our masts broken, and I will have landfall –

either on the rocks, the ice or the ocean floor.

Mural on the Bedroom Ceiling

I’ve dreamt four nights of children,

but the long days teach me to give up

dreams of children, so these three nights

I’ve lain awake.

 

But what am I?

I am a hand resting on a doorknob.

I leave behind traces of oil on the locks I’ve tried

and left behind.

But what am I?

 

I am nothing compared to a child.

Look into my swollen grey eyes and tell me,

 

is there more substance there than in

cheeks rosied with laughter, the face of a baby girl?

Or will that miniscule finger that blesses my face

with its touch one day reach out for locks I’ve tried

and find them broken by a father’s hands?

 

The ceiling is unchanging these three nights, but

on it my eyes have painted scripture and promises;

laughter from lips resembling mine.