Daily Dose – Impression

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/impression/
I wonder what his first impression was, as the Dollar Monster made a sudden right into the driveway a few yards ahead of him and swung up to the sidewalk where he was walking, guitar in hand.

“Where Ricky at? ” we all yelled, slightly out of sync. This kid, in his purple pants and skeleton shirt, walking around town with his electric guitar, seemed the type who might be able to help us locate our friend. Unfortunately, Ricky seems to get a new number every couple months so we have to locate him by alternative means when we come through town. This kid can’t help though. He’s only been in Nebraska two weeks and doesn’t know anyone, other than the girl he left Arizona to be with.

I open the bus doors and, to his surprise, invite him in. We pull away and start talking, learn that the girl he came here for burned him in four short weeks and he’s staying at the shelter, trying to decide what’s next.

“You’re staying at the shelter?” My husband asks incredulously. “If you wanna get outta there you can kick it with us.” Everyone echoes this sentiment, whooping encouragement. This kid can’t believe his ears and within fifteen minutes all his earthly possessions are piled on the floor of the van.

We get him food, and a drink whose partially empty can he crushes with his foot, a guitar case and a chair within the space of ten minutes, earning himself the nickname Crush. My husband and our road dog tell him what gear he’ll need if he wants to travel, let him know he’s more than welcome to join us, and we all talk about what led us here and what life on the road has afforded us, then we all jam. By the end of the night Crush is telling us he already feels like we’re family, and he knows he could trust us with his life.

He leaves to find a bathroom and I say, “You know, I’m thinking about how this is just what we do, but for him, his whole life just did a 180 in five minutes.”

The guys laugh. “We did just roll up on him super hard. Lucky him.” I wonder if he’ll tell his grandkids one day about the night the Dollar Monster pulled up next to him. DollarMonster

Daily Dose: Unmoored

via Daily Prompt: Unmoored

They told me,

When I was young,

That the dock was the only safe place.

No life preserver

Or boat

Could serve at substitute for the semi solid wharf,

Despite what I saw others act out;

Flying across the water

Or pushing it aside with their bodies,

Gliding,

Weightless.

“Weightlessness is sin, ”

They impressed upon me.

” The cruel spirit

Of hatred and vengeance for the wayward,

Would never put more on you

Than you are able to bear.

But He built you weak

And He built you fragile,

And He built you wicked, and to untether

From the pier of misery

And righteous fear

Is to lean unto your own understanding;

To selfishly profess

That you are your own master

And challenge He

Who had his son tortured

And put the blood on our hands. ”

What they failed to mention was

The beauty of the open sea,

Made all the more breathtaking

In contrast with its fearsome power.

They never mentioned

How  the waters were teeming with life,

Unimaginable shapes and shifting colors

That may have burned awe of a majestic creator into my mind,

In place of paralyzing fear.

Unmoored, at last,

Adrift amidst alien scenery,

I see the futility

Of life at the end of a rope.

What then, is your faith,

Having never faced the Power you give your life to,

Out of horror at the thought

Of facing the Power?

Your anchors be damned,

Any and all.

You think you’re in control-

Wages, dreams of wealth,

religion, and grave plots;

Waiting to rot,  like the salt encrusted timber

You lash your soul to,

Until the day

It’s taken back by the sea.

Daily Dose – Harmony

via Daily Prompt: Harmony

He’s taken down the oyster shells

That hung on the back porch,

and the photos from over his work bench.

He’s begun to empty the kitchen drawers

of keepsakes

and papers,

opting to throw out the old anniversary cards.

He said he’ll have to sell the chickens,

but, by the way he’s been leaving the coop open

I think he might just rather they wander off,

like he told the dog to do

when he defeatedly opened the  door, late last night.

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He forgets, at times,

whether or  not he’s already had his pills,

with no one to help him keep track.

He’s facing his own mortality,

before reaching sixty,

and his wife,

high school sweetheart,

decided it was too much

for Her to bear.

Long gone is the harmony

of living side by side under the guardianship

of mountain sentries,

relentless and proud,

as she turned out to be,

however,  without beauty

but all the ice,

demanding, in the divorce,

that he sell what was to be his final resting place,

their children’s fairy tale castle,

so she can have half the money.

 

Daily Dose – Climbing

via Daily Prompt: Climbing

Since yesterday we’ve been steadily climbing up out of the Midwest into the land of terrestrial giants, cloaked in eternal winter. The emergence of hazy blue and white silhouettes on the horizon never loses its magic, no matter how many times I make this trip. Since childhood I’ve been enchanted by the impenetrable landscape, a Kansan toddler already filled with the desire to migrate to higher ground at the first opportunity. My sisters and I made grandiose plans to live in remote cabins where we would write thrilling novels and befriend the local wildlife.

One of my sisters only left Kansas for one month for a job that ended up falling  through. She lives in our detested father’s hometown. My oldest sister turned 30 last month. She left Kansas at 22 and moved to Iowa with her husband and they’re still there.

I don’t mean to bring everything back to them, but they still account for more than half my life’s influence and experience. They’re such a looming shadow, blaming me for our family’s strife. Yet I’m the one ascending. I’m the one following the sunlight to destinations that feed my soul something other than the bread of bitterness. All this beauty still brings to mind the stark contrast of my ugly past.

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The mountains make me feel more whole, and even in the prolonged cold I can breathe more deeply out here. The trouble with being from Kansas is, you can only get halfway across the country when you run as far as you can go.

Daily Dose- Timely

via Daily Prompt: Timely

It comes

at the perfect time,

a shift in life,

a mind ruffled by breeze

in need of physical motion.

Phases of my life can be defined by events and locations,

whereas sitting still

causes things to blur together,

like a piece of paper

too soaked with water color, pooling in one place

so that all the colors meet in the fold

as a brown puddle

rather than a beautiful rainbow

spread from one edge to the other.

When in doubt,

transition,

hopelessness or fear,

mountains can contextualize the smallness of your life,

and sky scraping trees,

massively gentle spirits,

allow dismissal of pain and discord.

In times of elation

and satisfaction, too,

mountains raise your soul into the sky,

muscles burning,

heart pounding,

alive among jagged rocks;

a soft and delicate life

invaluable

and finite,

yet capable

of infinite peace.

I love heading West

where all the world’s suns

set.

Daily Dose – Pleased

via Daily Prompt: Pleased

It’s the oddest thing, but I wasn’t  sure how to respond to today’s prompt until about 1:55pm when the doctor read the list of symptoms my husband and I worked on to prepare for my appointment, and she looked up and asked, “Do you think you’re bipolar?”

We discussed what that meant, technically and scientifically, and what that meant as far as my life. And I’m pleased to say, yes, yes I do think my wetware is malfunctioning.

I don’t think I’m impatient, bitter, spiteful, angry, clinging to my damage, ready to fight at the drop of a hat, lazy, unmotivated, reckless, contemptable and incapable of happiness. I think I have a problem that has been out of my control for years, buried under the rubble of an ugly childhood and a nasty relationship. It’s like being freed from prison after years served for a crime I had accepted guilt for. My parents never would get me help. Only mandated talk therapy, never psychiatry.

“We can’t teach a pill abuser that pills are ever the answer, ” my father said. What he meant was, if they” fixed” me they would have to find someone else to blame.

For years I believed medication was a bandaid, maybe even a crutch, but it wouldn’t help me deal with the real issues myself. I maintained this point of view through three nervous breakdowns and the collapse of the “successful life”  I had built. Only after I got with my now husband did I pursue therapy for myself. My husband, my therapist and I laid rope over some treacherous slopes and I followed the lines through emotional frostbite and social amputation over summit after summit. I moved away from my therapist and my husband and I continued the painful process of rebuilding or, really, building for the first time, on a foundation of aforementioned rubble. And then we hit a wall.

A wall I try and try to rationalize. A wall my husband keeps insisting I try harder to break through. And finally, after all this time, after all the filth was cleared away enough to even recognize this long standing obstacle, we have a name for the last thing standing in our way. It’s no longer a vague and shapeless monster that rears its head every two or three weeks and hurls me headlong at my husband’s throat, fangs bared. It’s a creature with a face and a name and, like any demon, that’s all I need to know to banish it.

I have the information I need to make things right, for my whole family. You see, I can choose the lifelong uphill battle for myself, but that wasn’t my husband’s choice, and it certainly wasn’ t the choice of my children. I owe it to them to try another route, and I’m more than pleased to finally know the name of the road I’m on. Left turn up ahead.

Daily Dose – Unravel

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/unravel/

She remembers the poem

“Ode to My Socks, ” by Pablo Neruda

like you remember seeing an old friend

a few years ago;

The whimsy, like going back in time

to a better you,

right in the middle of those beloved memories.

” I would be

The perfect pair of handmade socks, ”

She thinks,

imagining the colors,

woven together like the simplest magic.

Simple is often the best sort of thing,

especially now,

when things are anything but.

The old friends will never visit,

she made sure of that,

by trying to encourage them to live better.

They weren’t that sort of friends which,

I suppose,

means they weren’t ever friends at all.

And now

The  twilight and goat skin,

Two immense blackbirds,

became entangled,

snagged on what she supposed was love, but,

being the drooping blossom

of a seed sprouted in rock,

she has the tendency to mistake stone

for fertile soil.

It is an easier mistake to make

than someone who was loved as a child

Can imagine.

And it has come to pass

that the one golden thread

is caught,

but time moves ever onward

with no regard for requests to pause

so that one might stop her soul from unraveling

as the result

of another mistake.

Perhaps she’ll have to settle

for being a metaphorical pile

of lovely yarn;

So many things it has been

or could yet become,

instead,  lying on the floor

taking comfort in its own shapeless vibrance.

Sometimes

after so many times,

you take what you can get.

https://m.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/ode-my-socks