Posted in art, poetry, writing

Are You Ready?

Are You Ready?  She asked the question  in the earnestness of choice, offering me an out despite the unspoken plea traced  in the words hiding behind the weight of decision, my decision to box up my heart --my needs, my fears, my selfishness— and store it on a shelf, collecting dust and waiting.   She explained: you can’t expect anything back, must act without being asked, that’s what it takes, effort,  your effort.  I nodded, a yes flying from my lips  in auto response like an out-of-office email, true and direct, but impersonal, shallow.   She glared into my irises like a lie detector assessing genuine intention. But she didn’t say anything. Did she not see the waver in my thought which screamed in every blink  breaking our locked eye contact? She didn’t say anything, reiterating her faith in me, her compassion to see beyond my flaws, the reason why my mother is the most selfless person I know.      I reach down my throat  and pluck out my feelings. This isn’t about me, I think, but if there’s one reward to this choice it’s becoming more like my mother, my selfish caveat tainting her altruistic purity.

This one’s a bit different. But I wouldn’t be a poet if I didn’t play, right? Thanks for stopping by and as always, have a happy Wednesday!

–Leanne Rebecca


Poetry and music.

11 thoughts on “Are You Ready?

  1. In this case, different is good — very good, Leanne. The out-of-office-email metaphor is fabulous, as is “I reach down my throat / and pluck out my feelings.”

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