Journey to Your Deepest Self
Currently Browsing: Pam Bolton

was I the one?

what I want to know is was it my fault? was I the one who threw the final stone that knocked you off the cross and into the compost the one who dipped and filled my bucket again and again desperate for more of you? was I the one who convinced you I wasn’t reliable wouldn’t show up when it really mattered? was I the one who scraped you away from the scene where you stood on the precipice ready and willing? the one who instead led you down into the garbage heap where you still sit and sift through the millennia of shrinking stinking sopping trash imagining here you will find the clue that erases feeling small and insignificant wasted buried gone? was I the one you turned to reached for as I ran the other way turned the corner on you turned as soon as I caught the yellow of your jacket made a left turn because I knew you were headed right? was I the one who told you to jump? who told you not to?...

What If I Told You

By Pam Bolton and Kathleen MacGregor What if I told you It was me? I picked up the stone And threw it At the bird’s nest And knocked it down To the ground And all the babies died. What if I told you It was me? I took the jumping mouse From the jaws, the paws Of the cat And held it Warm in my palms Until, hours later, It died. What if I told you All day yesterday I didn’t care And the day before I can’t remember Where I was or How I felt? I wanted to be somewhere Else, anywhere And I was. I was in the nest, On the ground, Dying, In my own...

I REMEMBER

  The tug in my belly. The tears beginning, the disbelief.  How could this be happening? Why? I want this. I hate this! I want a different life. I’m free, finally free! NO! STOP! Do what I want, what I say!  Why, how, could you do this? Love someone else, want to be with her, hurt our love?  What of our love? What of me? What of our children? I hate you! I want nothing to do with you! I want you – completely. Don’t do this! Chose me. Chose me. Chose me! I remember a night, screaming.  Throwing out into the rain that brown suede jacket, take that you bastard, and leaving. It was after the push – one push – one push too hard. Hitting the floor, feeling the pain of a rib. Nursing the pain, nursing all the hurt, nursing myself out the door, into the truck. Driving to a friend’s house. Asking the next morning what you told the children. I told them you were mad at her, you said. Bullshit! Bullshit, I tell you. Bullshit. That’s all. Now, years later, the tug in my belly is gone, a pulsing heat in its stead. Passion replaces blaming rage. It took time to know the Universe was behind me all the way, that the rays of the sun still shone on my corner, and drew me forward, the earth pulling my roots to places beyond, deeper than the oak outside my house, that a chapter I wanted to write began that night. A life more true, my own. Not so reliant, dependent. No more following a script we both had bought. Thank you. Now I remember  – I always love you  –  always.   ...

I am a Tree

And old. Fierce wind whips  ‘round me, loosens and scatters the dried leaves of weary, winter fears and leaves me almost naked.   Everyone, anyone can see me!   No full-grown leaves of modesty to cover my blemishes, the turn of my limbs, my knobby wrists and elbows. My begging arms, my ancient, grounded roots apparent.   I tremble, springing with the rush of air. Shake with the dread of being judged  too big. Cut down. Shake and shake until I know I want to grow again.   My new leaves flail, lit with an urgency to reach and move, show off, hang on, roll with the punching gusts. I begin to enjoy this ride, this freedom, and my leaves’ determined grip, their laughter as they clap green hands together....
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