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Lighting
Such revered expectations of success: Teaching, writing, traveling; living blissfully. Withered for her. Oh the magnitude of constraints, burdening my shoulders.
Self assurance, her second nature Passed from father to child Uncompromising in its direction
I, standing on the abyss of doubt. Too many paths to choose. Confusion, drawing me from routine expectations of success, the path more traveled; Knowing your origins, a path sealed tightly, again, by the mother of birth, found.
A momentary, blinding light, casting its shard into my soul. Like measure fifty-eight: go Oregon A crack in the jalousie, lets the warmth flow in.
Ties are binding, mourning lifting.
Steve Swanson Spokane, Washington 1947
(This feature appeared in the Summer 2001 issue of the Bastard Quarterly.) Copyright 2001
Bastard Nation
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