Originally posted on Amethyst Review.
My thoughts linger
on the hem of my purple dress.
I am not a perpetual witness to failure
but a doppelganger uncovering roots –
source of connection and remembrance.
Sometimes I traverse the road between heaven and hell,
strumming “So Long Marianne” on a beat-up guitar
or fingering prayer beads.
I don’t recognize family portraits in the hall,
blue light turning faces olive and sullen.
I listen to myself whistling.
It’s not a matter of chance,
not a question of who, what, where, why
or when, but the other w — wonder—
whipping around the windowsill
as Earth spins into dawn.
I bathe in morning light
with a full view of the chapel.
I am not my own worst enemy.
I am a lucky lady holding out a finger for a bird.