Monday, November 3, 2008

My hands are getting Old
My hands are getting Old
I paint my store bought nails a flower pink to make my fingers appear longer and stronger....younger perhaps....
If they had been stronger could I have protected and held the little 5 year old that gave up her innocence to quiet the screams of baby white bunnies....could I have held off the rapists of a 14 year old or the punch of my lover...

Probably not I think... because I was someone else back then who didn't know how strong she was or that she was pretty or smart......

Everything is camouflaged to protect myself and I laugh aloud at myself as I try to write this because I sit here thinking of a million things I could do that are legitimate chores needing done so as not to have to face these shadows.


Ah the shadows in the periphery of my vision ....perhaps only an image of innocence taken by someone else's older hands....... My stomach churns and I hold back that forever present fearing cry lump in my throat and think of a few who will be proud of me for doing this but who I despise at this moment for making me bring the shadows into focus but who I know will forgive me for my displaced spite....

I just got up to get more coffee and laugh at myself through the tears pooling in my eyes......I suddenly remember the five loads of dirty clothes at the foot of my bed that have laid there for a week and not concerned me until now......I get up and put the white clothes in the washer and put in too much bleach wondering what articles will survive the harshness of the wash....like myself I think.....stained wrinkled and smelling bad and worn.......but made from sturdy fabric.....and I know the articles will come from the wash cycle clean again and ready to wear as will I ......Damn You Barbara........Damn me for trying to blame you .....I know why I'm blaming you because you will forgive.......

All I can do now is focus on that damned load of white laundry tumbling in the dryer.......tumbling like I have all my life tossed by the heat and bruised by the journey....

I have an appointment in thirty minutes and I'm pissed off now because I don't want to loose these thoughts and get ready but as I write I know I can't loose them because they have been with me always tucked away in that laundry basket of unwashed things in my heart.......with my tiny five year old hands afraid to touch them .......I'll be back to write again ......I have an apt....I think I'm crazy now as I just let my thoughts pour out through my pink flower tipped fingers on hands that are getting old..
Flagged to protect myself and I laugh aloud at myself as I try to write this through clouded eyes

1 comment:

Robin Pedrero said...

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