When
I focus on delighting an audience
it
becomes easy to be the girl
tucked
around the corner
from
a once-upon-a-time market
outside
the building
where
she sat under a raining roof
and
slowly watched her perception
of
herself come apart at the seams.
Locked
in an automated message,
naked
in the middle of an
“I
will be back…”
I
discover to my dismay that
I
cannot retrace my steps
to
collect the gumdrop trail
that
would lead me back to comfort
and
as dusk falls
I also come to understand that
I also come to understand that
there
are no more light bulbs
in
the countryside and,
consequently,
as
it is with most things,
no
way back
and
no obvious way forward,
and
so I stand
in
the midst of a ‘hmmmm’
and
decide I must collect
the
scattered garments
blown
about by chance
so
that I might piece them together
anew
to discover the truth
and
forego the conclusion.
“You’re
no longer wanting the pieces of you
that
have been folded into someone else,”
she
mentioned from a bathtub,
and
the truth of the matter was,
she
was right.
I
am no longer confused
by
the ever-changing puzzle
that
fakes me out
with
a semblance of completion.
If only once,
as we wait to wish all a
good night,
I kind of look at my
fingertips
and am delightfully
flabbergasted
to discover I am lovely, a
good thing.
lol. oh gosh.
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