Camille Gladney SchmoutzUpon Awakening (mixed media)

Today I take note of the trees and the blossoms on the trees    
                                 without thinking of dying. When I see a
                                 woman wiping the mouth of her child and
                                 then hurrying to the bus, I think I am just like
                                 her.  Every longing isn’t lined with pain. 
                                 Every ache isn’t an ache for myself. I am
                                 anyone:  the girl sitting on her hands in front
                                 of the Shell station, the man steaming shirts
                                 at the dry cleaner, the stranger I recognize the
                                 smell of, the woman who keeps to herself. I
                                 rest, I work, I hurry forward to what I will
                                 become. My future is not a long distance call
                                 tumbling in static but here now, open, really
                                 open, like something young coming together
                                 and reaching out. For the first time in
                                 months I love what is right in front of me: the
                                 lead sky, the old rain in the gutter like rotten
                                 fruit. There doesn’t need to be great
                                 distance. When I think about God I think of
                                 how things transform – a huge stonewall in
                                 the middle of the night is an open field by
                                 morning.  And when the rain comes, and it
                                 always comes, dark as the wind over the
                                 forest and loud as bells clamoring through
                                 trees hissing like madness, I will pull my
                                 name back.  I will carry it out in front of me
                                 and give it to anyone, cold and wet and in the
                                 middle of sorry, sorry for everything so ugly.
                                 I am done being afraid.  I am done with
                                 sadness like a fake moon all the time out my
                                 window. I can love someone who is not
                                 dissolving into the horizon.


Ginna Luck