Felt important yesterday, and then it passed
A Poem
Nothing like a global pandemic and yet another senseless killing of an innocent man to put life into perspective. To put dreams and aspirations into the shop for maintenance. And put, “I” and “me” on hold for a few moments while the rest of the world gets to make their case. This poem reflects the pressures being released as two tectonic plates within me formed a truce; a grace period for gathering bits and pieces of the past and rearranging them into something that matches the sensibilities of today’s world.
Felt important yesterday. Stood up and waited for the applause — but the birds squawking in the trees Outside my window, must have drowned it out, because all I heard was my own heart beating. My own mind whirring, as old ideas were churned into mulch and laid down in a bed for new ones to grow in.
Felt supercilious and misunderstood and groaned With indignation as I pondered what the hell was wrong With a world that didn’t see, couldn’t hear and seemed Indifferent to all the really great ideas, hanging out there, like fruit to be picked — like they were needed.
Felt invisible and elusive, like an endangered bird, on an island lost in the Pacific somewhere, pacing the sandy shores, squawking, pissed-off; where were the people, the boats, the scraps of food that it had been missing. Thinking — damn wings are too small to fly away with; damn legs too short to swim away with, Life’s too vague and unwieldy — need a little therapy today.
Felt awkward in my skin and afraid I might fall into old habits, Fall into dreams discarded long ago as obsolete; into memories vague and unsettling, and no longer mine, having been sold on the cheap to a buyer in Bayonne who was collecting bits of other people’s lives for a showing at the Guggenheim. I must remember to go.
Felt insignificant for a second, then it passed, like a train late for the station, late for the inaugural parade commemorating the building of the bridge between I Wish And I Once Was. Leaving me wind-swept and hair tussled and thinking, what was I on about, being all inward and awkward and seeing myself outside looking in. Outside looking on — a spectator.
Felt disheveled, disconnected and disingenuous for thinking too many thoughts about Me. About my world, about how I would, could, should be more or better or enveloped In a cloak of invincibility, against man and ideas, against passions and post-its left indiscriminately with notes that should have been spoken, with feelings that should have been felt — as in touched, as in held tightly against another.
Felt relieved after admissions of allowing carefree ideas, invading sacred spaces inside my own beingness; incursions of marauding ideas of greatness, masquerading as Me, as who I am, or once was or once decided to be. Me, the always changing, always wanting version of myself that never seemed satisfied. Felt the walls of insecurity buckling, swaying in the winds of change. Shaking as old foundations formed years before I came to be, Began to topple and fall into ruin.
Saw the new me, chasing the old me, catching the old feelings Of clarity and joy and the freeing emancipation of soul and spirit; Flying, not toward anything, not away from anything, just flying As in just being, or just living, or just wanting to be who we are. Felt the sharp edge of resolution, cutting away the fraying ropes that held me fast. Kept me quiet. Saw me mute in times of rage. Saw me hollow in times of plenty.
Felt the fresh breeze of eternity flowing through me, catching the wings, lifting me higher and away.
Joe Luca is writer and editor for ILLUMINATION and a published author and writer of children’s stories, short fiction, non-fiction articles, screenplays and poetry. Publications include Child’s Life, Children’s Playmate and others. There are some other articles below — have a read. And thank you for stopping by.