Softly by the spoonful

33879402735_73c9d87faf_kThere exist still

people who were born when the world

like a split fig, bequeathing aubergine center

was half the size

in a fabled time when

individuals could be appreciated

for more than their overt strip-tease

hot and pulsing on flashy poles oiled by media

consumption

 

my grandmother

with her perfect straight teeth

and flossy hair refusing to be tamed

called a beauty in her day

would never have held up now

a corn maiden left to rot in untended field

days then, of gentle reproaching and

beguiling unknown

how intoxicate to consider, what you cannot reach

where now, less possesses such mystery

in its hoard of foil

than generations guarding jailers keys to reaching secrets

you could think all your life you were set

in one direction like weather vane, divining nature

and upon the death-bed of your elders, find out

nothing you rolled in your palm, was true

not even the dice you flung impatiently forward

 

for now we have proof

and proof is not

like a closed oven door

raising cake or bread

proof can rob us of dreaming

and those imprecisions and improvision

making fantasies stick like early

peas fattened against their husk

 

now the only fantasy

is waking up to become someone else

soon they will have us inhabiting machines

thinking ourselves free

maybe the irony will be

in those metal cases our brains

will grow mercurial wings

we are after all, rather fickle things

thinking ourselves to immortality

as Icarus searched to quench

his melting dissolution

 

I don’t share this ache to overcome my nature

it is my wish to lay me down and sleep

fertilizing the next seed

so when they say eat your greens

if you do, you may be the one in six to reach triple digits

I secretly chew and spit into black soil

preferring the liquor of a shorter candle

if I lived that long

nothing of the world I once loved

would remain

 

Buddhists say

live in the moment, not past, nor future

but I am a backward bespeckled girl

with a tilted womb and trigger finger

I am a girl who was partially born

with patched lazy eye and pigeon toe feet

I inherited bunions from my father who

stole them from his grandmother

she was blind with cataracts and still able

to see clearly

don’t live in the city, she chided him

the country boy who sought

museums on sunday’s instead of church

you’ll always be lonely, she prophesied

and he was

staring out windows at tall buildings

with long faces, void of harmony

 

whilst I leaned more toward my ancestors

who tilled fecund earth with prematurely calloused hands

finding peace in silent prose press of peat

to nourish encroaching tides of meaningless

gabled society can bring

 

from my mother I gained

some wit and spark

but also the propensity to climb inside myself

so far I didn’t know how to trust

and when it rains and the weather shifts

its turbulence

my head aches with clamoring change

an internal disturbance like children

playing band with pots and pans

it was always the habit of myself

to disbelieve the town crier

hefting his false bell

handing out sugar for the children

and pills for heavy-lidded adults

back in time I stood

warming my small hands against radiators

gloves wet from snow thawing

capture of damp wool in sticky air

the psychiatrist said

did you come here alone and you are only twelve?

I wanted to tell him

how many times I learned the way forward

without hands or trace

but some truths are best kept

behind your surface

he told me something I have never forgotten

it is the unkindness of those familiar

scars us worse of all

than any cut from a stranger

yet still

grief is a thing of feathers loosened by seizure

as rain will envelope sound, cutting off from usual ways

we tread deeper into ungulate symphony

he said; somebody should have loved you better

and I watched

my gloves shrink ever so slightly

as loose wool pulled taut in warmth

just as I

will lean into glassy light composed of grainy prism

away from those who string their netted words

higher and higher in hope of catching

butterflies

 

it is summer now

the sprinklers in gardens come alive at night

catching mating dragonflies unaware

lightly slapping window panes as they arc

and fall

the cat will only seek to step

on cooling tiles when sun has set

and behind my eyes if you looked

a hundred cages stand emptied

where generations have flown

toward the sea and diminishment

 

I know

as I feel the tilt of myself shift like

long seated shadows will at last

urge toward darkness

the slightest ember could ignite

this fragile ballet of footprints and placement

as tables set for breakfast loam in nightfall

specters in deletion, we rise and consume

time and understanding

softly by

the spoonful

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74 thoughts on “Softly by the spoonful

  1. Words you weave, are magical in their description.. And I am lost for words as to reply.. Except to say .. I am sure your grandmother would be extremely proud of you..

    Love and Blessings to you dear Candice. 💜💚💛

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Sue, thank you. I often wonder what she would have made of my writing, probably a lot of disapprobation but I’d like to think she’d also catch my drift as we were in many ways, alike. It’s difficult when you lose the only ancestors you were similar to, sometimes the world can be a forboding place without them. Thank you for your support and reading this.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. she would have loved you even more than I’m sure she already did. She might have been a big judgy on bits, but even there, i bet a lot less than you think as you got older. A lot of time that judginess is to protect youth from youthful mistakes. Regardless, this is a beautiful piece and it moved me deeply. as you always do. remarkable.

    Like

  3. I have always understood that it is in my blood to love you. When you speak about your past, your family, your origins, it is all too clear why I love you as I do. You are as bright as every star in the sky and something completely different unto yourself. I gravitate to you and your words…and I find my own voice in them more often than not. You’ve a singular talent in expressing deep thoughts that I’ve had..and the fact that you have them too reassures me that one day humanity can finally be one entity. one day, not now or the near future. We’ll understand who we are and where we come from. And things will get better.

    Much love, Shieldmaiden ❤ ❤ ❤

    Liked by 2 people

    1. You beat me to it. And I could never follow up on that comment AND that poem without sounding like an illiterate ignoramus – so I won’t even try.
      I’m with you though. And I’m with Candice – I love you both 💜

      Liked by 1 person

    2. TY S&S (Sword & Shield), I’m not convinced of people, they’re so fickle it makes you want to run with the wolves, usually those who protesth loudest are the least sincere, something I cannot see before its too late. Too often I’m told things that so shining, I don’t believe them, in my heart, and soon enough they prove themselves tarnished and false. Why ever say something false if you can say nothing at all? Yet so often it’s demanded that we believe someone when they say ‘you’re my dearest friend you must believe me!’ when deep down we can see/feel/sense/smell the insincerity, maybe even before they consciously recognize it. This shuts me down like nothing else. Effort expended on others instead of those who count. How few really ultimately do. A small tribe. A very small tribe. You’re not alone in your thoughts.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I like the progression of thoughts and emotions through the generations, the little asides between members of family from long ago. We are to an extent what all of those people made us, yet we are also ourselves alone.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Hi friend
    I read the post and again think we are lost twins. I went to live with Grandparents at 14, it was a different would. How privileged to live with a much older generation. It’s funny..my life is more like Granny’s today. My mind clears when I’m tending to flowers or herbs, a feeling working on a computer can’t give me.
    🙂 M

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Blown away! Loss for words! Don’t know what to say other than you have written an amazing and powerful piece of art….or should I say a piece of your heart, which has touched mine and taken my breath away. I am in awe of your gift and blessed by you sharing it with us. Will read this one many times as you, once again, have taken us to places none of us have been before!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I’ve been reading these comments and again see that you touch so many lives with your gifted ability to express your experiences with the human condition. Donc, mon adorable ami à plumes, vous devez continuer à répandre ces belles ailes et apporter la lumière qui vient de la compréhension partagée dans la vie de blesser les gens qui doivent savoir qu’ils ne sont pas seuls. Volez sur un bel oiseau et partagez le cadeau que, en partie, votre grand-mère a nourri. Je t’aime, Natalie 🙂 ❤

        Liked by 1 person

  7. Holy shit!
    You almost made a tear drop out of my eye.
    I want to take your hand and you and I walk down a dirt road and pick blackberries and tell each other that we are ok and innocent and life can spin around us but we won’t care because we are skipping and spinning without a care in the world. That’s what this poem makes me want.

    Liked by 3 people

  8. Wowzer!!.. I see your muse has paid you a visit, lol… Absolutely magnificent!!
    So very glad you decided you still had more to say, because no one says it quite like you. And I can see your tribe agrees! ღ

    Liked by 1 person

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