Scheduling time

How long I have fought against the grain,
against my natural rhythm
my internal clock ticking
counter to everyone else.

As a child, I wanted to sleep
but my father
and the sun (streaming through windows)
had other plans,
banging and clanging,
the beat of cutlery disentangling itself
for a breakfast ready too soon.

As the mother of a young child
I adjusted to the quick beats of another’s heart
up early to greet new adventures
while I, groggy, still clung to dreams,
straggling along in his wake and, finally,
coffee-sharpening mind
ready for the requirements of school.

There was, I think, a brief interlude,
independence asserted
between childhood and parenthood
I wound my own watch
set time to my own desires
late classes and jobs and evenings under dancing stars…

And now I find myself unclaimed
in a strange undetermined no man’s land
between two rhythms,
two lives,
my beat discordant,
not quite my own…yet.

But the possibilities of time – my time –
stretch before me.
Infinite.
Mine.

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Rainwalk

I am walking through a steady rain, the steely evening lit by the glowing reds and golds of fall’s colour display.

I feel the magic of this life, a quickening of the heart, an uplifting.

I pass under a bridge’s pale, soaring arches and its lights turn on, one at a time, matching me step-for-step:

Enchanting.

In the midst of a life messy with family and work and responsibility, this moment feels like the perfected scene of a movie.

Unencumbered.

I don’t want it to stop. I feel I could walk for hours. And so I do.

Dreaming, I let fall all expectation, all requirement, all responsibility.

Dreaming, I walk in a twilight that hangs between day and night,

indefinite.

I make turns without thinking, following curiosity, letting whim form my path.

Until, rousing myself, I find myself facing my front door.

Visions of a city

Between all the signs of modernity —

glass-to-sky, scaffolding, sleek lines —

I scour the streets seeking this city’s ghosts 

the old cemeteries are the only places still alive 

there, ghosts breathe among trees and birds and earth-scents

elsewhere, cobbles and ancient stones whisper, but silently

their shadows hidden by larger, darker forms 

and parasols, slogans screaming brightly.

I did what I could to seek them, these ancient figures,

but so much of them is gone, so much of now is blind to the past

I went down to the river, hoping the water would at least be constant

but even it it is barely recognizable, churned now by motors and fumes.

The heart of this city is a-bustle 

everyone moving to their own rhythm

but here and there doors remain slightly ajar, open onto lives past,

hinting at some other world.

Glancing sideways I have seen them in their aloof existence

beyond the  hot, dripping streets.