How would you describe yourself to someone who can’t see you?
If I were to describe myself to someone who can’t see me, I wonder whether they’d see the vision — or hear it in my voice — if I’d instead describe people with whom I’ve kept company, then admit my shame over not having been even remotely careful.
I collect keys..and the like
Cowardly
In the night I create
I skulk nigh
Leave doors unlocked
Then explain
‘Twas not I
I tear mirrors…from concrete
Angrily
In the abstract I create
I demur
Leave laughing
Then I stare
‘Twas once her
The mountains welcomed me, “You’re back!” and promised me they’d have my back, should some Great water way — or two — recede, retreat, or otherwise act as cowards for too, too long.
Oh, harim, how they cried to me, spoke truth to me, “Here’s Jenny, an ally to thee.” At once the Sun shone once again, as I embraced my Westward friend.
Her shores were rocky, her waters cold. But I, at midpoint, felt less old — and trampled — then. And my ears acquiesced.
For t-w-e-n-t-y years before, life’s fog obscured Jenny’s lore. She sang it then, she sang it now: “Courageous woman, to the path you’ve chosen, the mountains bow.”
With prophetic vision
All the women
In the family
Mothers and daughters
Cousins and nieces
With pets present
Met in unison
Tethered their souls
Gathered their wisdom
Shared bad meals
Cried then laughed
Rolled up sleeves
Studied the data
Examined their hearts
Consulted with God
Exhaled a “Yes”
Cleaned the mess
Moved some mountains
Saved the world
Then slept soundly
Say something here and now to my writer’s eyes and heart. Tell me something mystical or bizarre about yourself. Share anything that will be cathartic for you, or will blow my mind. Enlighten me.
Post your own most favorite photo or other personal work of art.
Write a short story here, and I’ll collaborate and finish it with you.
Or, finish mine:
“Oh, how entirely good it is to be this aged age, having had all the conversations with all the different girls and women who I have been throughout these years! I know who I am, I know what I want, and I know what I am unwilling to do to achieve it. The beautiful mystery that remains is this: What magic-like means are out there in the world that I may take in order to manifest what I want?”
Proceed out of Winter
And then, daylight
We, this imperfect photograph
LisaRosier.com 