“One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives…”
From the inaugural poet Richard Blanco’s poem “One Today” read at the swearing-in ceremony for President Obama.
And so a new blahg rises from the keys. I listened to this poem on the radio while driving home today. My mind tends to keep itself occupied with word play whenever possible. Sometimes it’s my ears, like today.
We lift our eyes guessing at the whether of our lives.
Are you thinking about this? My eyes, my senses, mislead me with the weather, what is going on around me. Meanwhile, it is the whether that requires my attention. Decisions, directions—I’m not typing about compass points now, though life does require constant course corrections.
Every.Day.Of.My.Life…I’m hearing the clock that isn’t there kicking me forward second by second.
I’m four. I’m bouncing on my knees atop a mattress, my hair joining the happiness that I hope is coming in a “new mommy.”
I’m 15. I’m laying myself under the weight of another’s shame to keep hold of an innocence that is no longer mine and hers that never belonged to me.
I’m 20. Too young to marry, soon to be too young to be divorced. Now 28 still drawing on hope like a last breath of air before drowning. Rush on, rush on past a second divorce to 33 and melanoma, skin cancer, heaps of loss and ruin.
Crazy weather I was having, eh? Whether I am having. I’ve managed to silence the ticking of analog, but digitally I’m still kicked forward second by second. Before the 1 and the 00 rise beside the AM, I’m checking my whether.