Mostly, I stumble like a young Angus in a bed of mums. Hooves caked with dark, rich, soil, but not understanding anything with the exception of the awkwardness that are my feet and that the sweet taste of the grasses sprouting around the mums, satisfies for a short while. I picture myself landing delicately, but try as I might, gravity doesn’t give way to the desires of an aging boy restless for want of a decent sentence to pass on to troubled souls. I settle to the carpet, long since worn with the traffic of life and close my eyes in an attempt to fuse the tag ends of my existence and create that circle that allows my progeny to travel their track, to their destiny, hoping that they can land more delicately. I see other destinations for them, shining and futuristic, their happy faces raised to the light of a rapturous sun hand in hand, wanting each other and embracing the coming of the comets tail. Upon reflection and in parables that float thought the watery vastness of my closed eyes, the truth is printed on the inside of my eyelids. They too will feel awkward, slogging through the mud, surrounded by beauty and wondering if their offspring will enjoy a lightness of being that will allow them to fly to the moon for a picnic of wonder and wisdom. In my mind, I throw them the keys to my rocket ship and tell them to be careful, the road to the moon has no speed limit and racing the light often ends up being a losing bet.
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
Awkward
Mostly, I stumble like a young Angus in a bed of mums. Hooves caked with dark, rich, soil, but not understanding anything with the exception of the awkwardness that are my feet and that the sweet taste of the grasses sprouting around the mums, satisfies for a short while. I picture myself landing delicately, but try as I might, gravity doesn’t give way to the desires of an aging boy restless for want of a decent sentence to pass on to troubled souls. I settle to the carpet, long since worn with the traffic of life and close my eyes in an attempt to fuse the tag ends of my existence and create that circle that allows my progeny to travel their track, to their destiny, hoping that they can land more delicately. I see other destinations for them, shining and futuristic, their happy faces raised to the light of a rapturous sun hand in hand, wanting each other and embracing the coming of the comets tail. Upon reflection and in parables that float thought the watery vastness of my closed eyes, the truth is printed on the inside of my eyelids. They too will feel awkward, slogging through the mud, surrounded by beauty and wondering if their offspring will enjoy a lightness of being that will allow them to fly to the moon for a picnic of wonder and wisdom. In my mind, I throw them the keys to my rocket ship and tell them to be careful, the road to the moon has no speed limit and racing the light often ends up being a losing bet.
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I think for me too gravity is felt... no moon for me i think (hope)
ReplyDeleteThis is the spot I come to over and over again as a mother. Remembering with some embarrassment the awkward defining moments of my life, watching my children come to similar points and seeing the new realizations they make as they flail a bit in their moments as well. I suppose it's only natural to hope they can steer clear of some of those things, but as a friend once told me "you only can learn with your own head". I am happy at least that we are a close enough family to be there for each other in those times.
ReplyDeleteInteresting bit of prose. Gravity too often holds us down in our leaps. I used to dream of leaping like a ballerina but only ended up stumbling when I hit the ground again. the last line of this is is truth and sadness at once.
ReplyDeleteThe eternal cycle, our journeys mostly made, watching our kids tumble through theirs, faces alight with hope............always so nice to read you, Corey.
ReplyDeleteSuch a ponderous write — your reflections are something that are perhaps natural to this human condition. Whatever we may wish, life seems to batter us all down along the way. Well penned.
ReplyDeleteReality is a heavy thing, it grabs us by the dreams and refuses to let us fly without proper wings.
ReplyDeletetry as I might, gravity doesn’t give way to the desires of an aging boy restless for want of a decent sentence to pass on to trouble souls.
ReplyDeleteLove the whole pacing of this sentence - shows the skill of prose poetry, where cadence and rhythm is still a factor.
That Angus in the mums, what an image. Growing up as I did we often had to chase the cows and through the garden in soft earth was the worst. An interesting piece of prose, and I like how you end with that road to the moon, a road to a happy life.
ReplyDeleteReality and desire are two sides of the same coin💞which are ascentuated by the decisions we make in life. We may not always make it but that should never stop us from trying 😊
ReplyDeleteIn other words, fly me to the moon. I never land as gracefully as i imagine myself doing, either, and maybe that is why wrote--so i can.
ReplyDelete"why I write" that should say.
ReplyDelete