What are you doing way up there?
Are you trying to branch out? Expand your horizons? Or deaden them?
How many ladders do you need? Are two not enough?
Really, you don’t need ladders.
Get down off that ledge. It won’t solve anything and, besides, it makes me nervous.
Perhaps you could climb the shadows instead. Climb them until their dark is gone. Climb them until all you see are those useless ladders. The ones you don’t need in order to arrive safely at the place you want to be.
Don’t be afraid. The ground will support you.
And it’s amazing how high you can jump if you try.
photo by C. Dennis-Willingham
In every fabric of my soul
where fibers weave and thread
where stitching seems quite flawless
there are stains from when I bled
Ah, but isn’t it quite marvelous
to know this quilt has tracked
all my strains and struggles
yet I still remain intact.
Yes, I still remain intact.
— by C. Dennis-Willingham
photo image – quilt of Maya Angelou made by Faith Ringgold
Sometimes, when your hands are tied with knots you can’t undo,
your only choice is to wait patiently.
Sometimes, you may be able to loosen those ties that bind
and make a choice.
Think through the difficult choices
and make the decision with certain serenity.
Labor day is soon approaching and daily prompt’s word of the day is “Dignify.” I thought I’d kill two STONES with one BIRD. See you “at the top.”
I look in my duffle bag and see the sparring gloves Colonel Posey lent to me yesterday He had looked tired to me, like a man defeated from grief but who was still trying to stand up straight. His hair was Graying, and his eyes had lines at the corners like a map of a busy town. But his kindness sat on my chest like Pa’s and Ike’s kindness, stayed there perched like a redbird.
I thought about when Colonel Posey’s little daughter had died six months back from some disease the doctors didn’t know how to cure. I thought about Ervin Clay Carter and Gene Davis, them being dead and how hard it was on their parents and, maybe, how hard it was on me. They were just kids and life had sucked the air out of them easier than sucking a chocolate malt through a thin straw. Then I thought about Private Henderson.
After I’d told Colonel Posey about sparring with my father he said, “You know, whatever picture you’ve formed in your head about sparring with your father might not be what really happens.”
I knew what he was talking about. I thought of other pictures I’d made up in my head that didn’t match the truth, like working on that pipeline. That picture wasn’t anything like what happened. I thought of more pictures from long ago, like me owning my own guitar, or having a real conversation with my dad, or being able to reach my .22.