29 January 2009

Writer's Block or Mockingbird Syndrom

Feeling a bit out of sorts lately. It feels like there's tiny clumps of cells gathering at various places inside my body...they vibrate when I try to walk one distance to another. The sun came out today. I woke and felt the slightest warmth across my shoulder. I thought I was still in the dream I was dreaming, where I collected something in my hands and handed them to You. But You wouldn't take them, only whispered in my ear "patience." And all was through. I awoke to sunlight. And all day, I try and remember my only becoming is this day. My only emergence is right now. If I wake tomorrow, I start over again with a brand new gift. And Monday, I threw the gift into the gutter. I stomped the ice and snow, crunching the brittle ground in anger and frustration. You just sighed and carried me over the puddles, though I never notice your devotion. I hoarded the pain because it was mine. Sometimes I feel so small that all I dress myself in is pain. And so the gift slipped from my hands. I felt myself chewing my own tongue, grinding teeth and holding the wall together with arms. I run. I run on the treadmill and I run from Grace. Forget that I am my own warmth, my own light, which continues to grow though I forget to tend to it.

And so the poetry is silent as well. My impatience catches me. Its barbs stick into my sweater. I hold back. I hold on. Hold on. I just want to see if I am strong. But I know You. You'd say I had nothing to prove. So why does it hurt to admit that I am scared? That pride has me running in all directions, gathering things, picking out words and images? A mockingbird desperately building a nest, a poem, something to love, for love, to stake a claim on the day?

I tried to write a short poem

slip knots inside
Conch shells, pink-
ness floating about
the head. You said
I needed to trust
less, wrap words
around ankles, swim,
drown them, wait;
see what emerges,
what light breaks
through the surface—

Gold, breath, bundles,
your hair.


ComePassion said...

Well, I am a little confused as to who You is, as I am guessing it's not me, as you don't know me.

I am wondering about you, the person who is writing this stuff, where it comes from...are you in school? Major? Psych? How old are you? Do you work?

Molly Gaudry said...

Thanks for adding GCN to your blogroll. Very kind of you.