Poetry

Notwithstanding 2024

A poem to affirm that optimism is sometimes harder than it looks

Albeit imprudent I slide Wreck-fully Skating on bald tires No matter how thin the ice It has held So far

The game Is to not crack that skin Until you’re ready To drown

Too soon? Tragedy Too late? And you run out of gas

Icing my behind Panting after sobbing After my tantrum Comes a robin Jaded herald Gifting me a crocus

Everything melts Into laughter

___

By Doodleslice 2024–02–06

Should I go there? Probably not, but here goes:

Today, I found myself laying on the floor convulsively sobbing. This is not a habit. In fact, it is a thing I have only done a handful of times in my adult life, and this time nobody was in the hospital or worse.

Context is a delicate thing here. I don’t want to over explain or reveal too much, nor do I want to mischaracterize the moment. In these pages, I have shared a few of the things going on, but not all. And honestly, I don’t think the list matters here. The upshot is I’ve been feeling like a potato in a pressure cooker, and by and large, I am the one responsible for hopping in the pot, filing it with hot water (a trickle at a time), and plugging it in. Fate may be the chef who is threatening to screw down the lid, but you can’t blame fate for how it chooses to cook your proverbial goose.

Additionally, I had been reading a very moving essay by John Green that hit me right in the feels. My pump was most definitely primed.

A gentle rap, too soft to qualify as a knock, sounded at my door.

I opened it to see a dear neighbor, call him L, who is the only person who has lived in this building longer than I. He had brought me a little gift card — not as a thank you, not for an occasion, today is nobody’s holiday that I know of — he had remembered a conversation we had earlier and he wanted to give me the card, that was all.

He has never done this before, but I must say that he has always been a bright light in our building. L is the kind of guy who carries biscuits in his pocket for dogs he meets even though he doesn’t have a dog. He feeds birds. He weed-whacks the little patch along the sidewalk by the parking lot. He laughs loud and with tremendous warmth. Every building should have someone like L.

I gave L a big hug. I think he was a little surprised. But he didn’t make it weird, or make me feel like I had made it weird.

After thanking him and closing the door, I fell down on the floor and cried.

L was my robin and that little gift card was the crocus.

My hands are shaking a little bit.

Every building should have someone like L in it. I thought that was worth saying again.