Journey to Your Deepest Self

Dance Her Song

She is a Prisoner A broken, brilliant almost Secreting dances Ferocious or Soft Burning to be Born Trembling beneath The skin Unseen Dying to burst out Into the light Hoping against hope to Not go unsung Into the dreamless...

While You Were Away

by Kathleen MacGregor While you were away, I swept up a bit And shelved the books That had been piled into Tottering columns and Spread across the Ottoman. Piles you shifted each time You came home. PilesĀ  I insisted were Exactly where they needed to be. While you were away, It seems I took over The fussing, The irritation with clutter, The discontent. The resentment. While you were away, I woke up early, and Made tea before walking Out into the garden To prune and pull up some Weeds, coming in to Fold laundry and put it away. While you were away, I got a lot done. Calls were returned, Bills were paid. And I didn’t write a single poem, Make a collage, Or take a nap. No photographs were taken. While you were away, All the parts of myself That make it fun be alive, Died. Quietly. Vanished. As if they never were. I know who I’d be Without you. You are the sculptor’s hands Kneading, squeezing, pushing And I am the lump of clay Coming into form by your hands. And even if I am unsatisfying, Never turning out the way you plan, I am. And you keep returning to the...

Thanksgiving

by Kathleen MacGregor On Thanksgiving, when we all come together, gathering up our stories and our stances in our arms, like crops from the field; When we come bearing insistent separateness, proud individuality, spilling our armloads clumsily all over each other, because we have come with more than we can carry, there is a grief. The grief pours down from the middle of us and pools on the ground at our feet. We are standing in it. The grief is dammed. Held at bay, it never makes it to our hearts, our throats, our eyes. Our eyes stay dry. Just because we think we can’t cry here. We can’t show what we feel. Can’t be real. Walking across the room to my niece, to help her with her jacket, I splash through grief. I wade. I swim. She is growing more distant, unreachable. The tide has taken me out. I sink. I watch myself drowning. Drowning in grief suppressed. I watch. And it isn’t until the car pulls away and heads back down the road, gravel crunching dryly, that I reach down into that warm ocean of grief. And save myself, gasping for breath, finally sobbing, ocean meeting ocean, love meeting grief, thanking life for...
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