SoulFlying


There is always the possibility of an unfolding.

This poem began with a piece of paper. I had a blank sheet in my hands while I was invigilating an exam. As I walked between the desks, I folded and unfolded the piece of paper. Life is a little like this I thought, as the possibility of a blank page presented itself as I unfolded the paper.

There are pages in my life that I’d like to rip out, the deaths of my brothers Paul and Michael, the loss of my mother too soon, my father, perhaps too late as he became trapped in dementia. I’d like to erase bad decisions and pencil in decisions not made because my heart lacked courage. I’d like to rewrite words that hurt and shape them into something gentler. Those things will never happen, the past is written in indelible ink. Nevertheless, today is still to be unfolded.

This poem is dedicated to my partner, Julia, who with tremendous courage chose to unfold a new page in her life. I think though, that it also applies to all who feel the tug of a new hope, of a new way of seeing things and a more courageous, authentic way of being.

Before me is a page of possibility, waiting for me to make my mark. I can fold it away and wait or I can begin to unfold not only the page but all the things that I know I can still be.

Perhaps it’s time to dig into possibility and let something unexpected emerge in that great-life-gulp to  come.

It’s never too late to stand tall.


SoulFlying
                 For Julia

There is the possibility of an
unfolding,
Like  tiny womb-wet fingers
uncurling
To catch the breathing air
unaware
Of the great-life-gulp to come.

Now there is the lightness of an
untangling,
Umbilical cut from old hurts
unburdened
From the weight of another’s heart.
un-leashed
To sing a solo song:

Listen to the cry as it
rises.
This is the tallness of You, my love,
standing
Firm-footed on your ancient self,
running
To catch the flying soul that always was –

And now can
Be.

Ruth Everson


Comments

  1. Anonymous22 April 2013 at 12:55

    Thank you, Ruth. You have spoken to an angst that I grapple with presently. There are so many things I'd like to rewrite, redo, undo. And can't. But I know I'm stronger and more interesting because of my mistakes, not despite them. How bland we'd be without some ink blots on our pages!

    ReplyDelete
  2. D.J. Kirkby22 April 2013 at 22:53

    You poetry is sublime but the prose above it reads lie poetry too. only you could manage that trick Ruth. Now, 'fess up, what exciting thing is julia doing? Good luck to her whatever she has chosen to do. x

    ReplyDelete
  3. D.J. Kirkby22 April 2013 at 22:54

    *like not lie (I must learn to proofread)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Have The Conversation

On Thursday, I was invited to discuss my poem Black and White with 90 Grade 7s. The poem is about my second mother, Johanna Rapule. At the end of the talk, the girls asked a number of questions about the poem but there is one that has haunted me ever since. ‘What would you say to Johanna if you could speak to her again?’ The easy answer would be to tell her that I loved her. The real answer would be the deep regret that, although she knew my hopes and my dreams, I never knew hers. Growing up in apartheid South Africa, it seemed normal to have Johanna living in the tiny khaya at the bottom of the garden. It was normal to have her cook and clean and iron. I was five; my world was shaped by adults. As I grew up, visionary teachers, like Maureen O’ Gara, awakened me to the injustice that kept Johanna in her place. As a student, I protested and waved placards. We ran from the police down the streets of Benoni. We wrote angry poems, smoked furiously and drank too much wine. ...
Read more

Now is the Time for Courage

Image
A new year beckons. Before you know it we will be challenged by another 1st of January.  It's time to effect the change for which we yearn. Along come all the hopeful resolutions that briefly see the light of day before dying their usual death. Don't make resolutions - again I spoke to a group of people recently and asked them if they had made resolutions for 2020, many of them had. Most were horrified when I told them to ditch their grand plans as they would cause more stress than they were worth. The 1 st of January is like some magical line in the sand – there is a vague hope that we can step across the line and suddenly be all the things that we haven’t been for the last X number of years. The right inspirational moment Things that need to get done, get done. If you amputate a finger while cunningly carving a radish to decorate a salad, you don’t sit on the couch waiting for the right inspirational moment to go to the closest casualty room. You put your...
Read more

Tear Ducts, Onions and Chillies

Image
I’ve had a blocked tear duct for at least two weeks. It looks a little like I’m keeping a giant Easter Egg under my eye. I’ve checked, there’s no Lindt or Geldhof surprise waiting for me, which is a pity. I refuse to visit the doctor for something as puny as an eye duct. When I go, I like to tick off things like back ops, neck fusions, foot reconstructions or the odd skin graft on the troublesome head. Eye will not admit defeat to something the size on a pin prick. I have tried various methods to unblock the duct. Using my powers of deduction (see what I did there?) and Google, I set about finding a solution. Dr Google suggested a hot compress. I heated up a face cloth and reclined on the couch in a tragic pose, calling faintly for tea. The compress did nothing. I’m still hoping for the tea. The next was to try an eye solution. I poured drops into my eye. Nothing helped. Julia did mention that the drops were so past their expiry date that Noah may have dropped them of...
Read more