Training wheels cradle my ride
breaking my fall as I pump & glide
rocking from side to side, glide,
side to side, glide.
I put these wheels back on again
seeing how I was about to spin
out into fantasy land where I’d
fallen before and scraped my
shin, red ripped my skin, not
quite getting the art in my story,
falling apart.
Just when I thought this gradient
was stable and I wise, more than
able, then gears, cogs and bolts
went into a wobble. It was only
an illusion I’d cobbled from my
imagination, “if only” enabled.
Old view looking for new, expanding
horizon, while looking inward, inward,
inward, too. Perfect timing, with Covid
and all, to see what I can get to stick
to my future self wall. Not too late to learn
a new language … “Brute, et tu?”
—Martha Koock Ward
No comments:
Post a Comment