Ravaged days/spangled nights

"Sometimes the light’s all shining on me,
Other times I can barely see.
Lately, it occurs to me
what a long strange trip it’s been"
(J. Garcia)


The stars pulsing in the deepening blue sea
guided me through the configured life.
The archer loosened his arrow, and tethered, I flew behind;
assessing the hand which lent me sorrow - my mother’s yield;
a saddened brood, talented yet insecure.
Words and concepts (my toys) bearing down on
the mother of all syntheses - strung between the points
of the sub-atomic and the infinitesimal -
I caught a glimpse and felt primordial motion
swimming within my brain (and it haunted)
and constrained me on the cusp of yes and no
/light and dark/then and now/why and why not
(logic and intuition).

Frightened of the binding of those forces
yet in my nature to fall into passion
again and again - each time peeling away
another blistered layer until nothing was left
save a pure sensual desire
and a predation that took no prisoners
(setting them all free).
Fleeing into the rational to negate
the instinctive magnetism
which drew me forth like Venus;
each time whole and longing -
full of a rage that blew
through me like a typhoon -
dreaming of prophecies.

Divining the casualty and feeling
the waves crashing inside my head,
daylight arrived in gasping beats and
carried me back to the sandy shore;
mollusk-like I dug in with a fleshy foot,
parting the granules and
disappearing into a province of intent.
The silence woven into a tapestry
of benevolent consideration,
instructed and ushered the avenue into service
(helping others was my bent).
Yet I built a wall around my heart solid and secure -
save for a single aperture (well guarded)
to admit the sun sheen
and grant rectitude free play in the world.

Wounded by pity for the voiceless
and scorn from those who would crush me,
I fled deeper within and wrapped myself in
an ever-thickening blanket of safety;
my passion directed at causes,
truly sublimated into the noble.
The material plane imposed the direction of
my lust toward achievement and credence.
But a son overawed by life (sounds familial)
and a surfeit of labile emotional twitches ailing -
maternal emergence to contend
with the system (and the healing was slow);
and questions of why expanded goading
an avid appeal to the scientific method
to prove (or at least infer) that while
I wasn’t perfect, it really wasn’t my fault.

Gathering forces in support
(for the question was theirs as well)
I led a posse galloping through reams of data;
uncovering every archived review of the delinquent
and tracked the movement of a few
to show why and how they were affected.
And notoriety was mine (as was the day).
Sought after - welcomed and invited.
Committees and councils and collaborations
and boards and teams became the daily ride.
(Which meeting is this - I don’t know -
what’s the date and time?)

The list grew and I became ubiquitous
(as did the expectations) - a local pooh-bah.
Pressing forward, pen flourishing
/displaying creativity and organization/
an incandescent bearing - a responsive risk taker
and giant slayer (and my heart was in it).
Until a spell was cast and I was declared
a woman of high intelligence (with a heart);
and not liking second billing the marrow
began a billowing (and blew my old life away).

Now standing at the periphery gazing backwards
and forwards, feeling an electric current pulsating
{through me
(conduit/continuum/
the negative/the positive)};
my heart a candid volume,
a remote terrain of possibilities
clarifies through the reign of tears.
A Van Gogh galaxy swirls about me,
the tall cedars curling like wisps of smoke,
as the sun blazes its final huff
and tumbles to the bottom of the sky
(leaving me a murk and twinkling).


© 2000 Melissa Songer