reflections and rumination
After our conversation on that v e r y long drive from a very l o n g island, I found myself in deep reflection and ruminated for hours on the idea of what happens to roots unrooted. What indeed happens to unhealed roots? What are the ways in which they manifest and spread while twisted, bruised, bent, bare and beautiful. What are the inevitable growing pains that beckon the journey to . . . healing? I sat there for what felt like hours but quite possibly could have been but twenty minutes. I became immersed, metaphorically, in the water. In it’s reflection, I saw myself. Literally of course but also. . . . I saw myself, and you, and Mama, and Big Momma, G-ma Lula too. I saw our collective memory and our individual walks.
I ruminate on the moments I am the biggest barrier to my own healing, to my own growth and uncover fear at the barrel’s bottom of that thought. I promised you a poem so I reflected in rumination then I did that too. This is a bit of what came up:
Change => necessary, constant
Found a crack in the inevitable
to crawl into and
The sting in my eyes,
the flood that followed
to every utterance
how you feeling today?
I’mma clean this room,
this room. tonight.
But, if I can’t?
Experiencing this COVID that so
vividly diminished me,
No one has ever experienced this before.
It’s traumatic, and
we haven’t left the trauma
so, we don’t get the honour
of having PTSD, yet.
No relief from, this invisible
stressor on our immunity
stressor on our thoughts being in unity
Stressor on our entire world community
there are things going on is this world that we
it’s happening very quickly,
things changing around you so swiftly.
it’s hard to catch your breath, a break,
let alone sustain long enough to
can’t seem to shake this funk
this chunk of me, saggin’
givin’ me this sinkin’
feeling I’ve been syncing
with the frequency of delinquency
and singing sad hymns inside.
I depress wait.
Nothing is wrong with you baby,
Something’s wrong with the song around you.
empathic shoulders bare boulders colder to slow the
impact of mourning.
you absorb . . .
they don’t even know chil’
they don’t even know how, you . . .
deep mourning meets fear
on the brink of collective paralysis, so
you , you absorb this too
like all those toilet paper rolls that left Empty Shelves.
you both absorb too many fears
shaped like knees on your son’s neck
we are dancing the tightrope
between sanity and insanity.
quite frankly, we ain’t good.
You sweet Titi, intuit this stuff
compounded with your own fresh fears
there’s no end in sight,
this is a huge issue:
humans don’t deal well with this level of uncertainty
we go to war over uncertainty like this
all confused, spinnin’ pop bottles
then pointing fingers
psyche exhausted in our nine year old selves.
just can’t seem to figure it out, now
navigate this eldership
master enduring the constraints of our
new normal firms of with 6 foot walls
the sexiness of the Matriarch fades
beneath the weight of the job, and
this IS the job
Nothing is wrong with you
the mindfields of your past
to find the missing pieces
the ruined bits,
salvage the sweet-scented.
you begin to heal while
I patiently wonder . . .
taste of cope
About the Creator
S Blanch Byer
I'm brand new to this arena and very excited to be here. I've been writing and doing photography for years but never really shared. This is the part of the journey I'm exploring now - sharing. :)
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