Forgiveness

He was tired of staring up at the sky and looking for a purpose. The romanticizing glares of the twinkling, wish-granting stars seemed to be mocking him.

Why do I feel like I did something wrong?

Why won’t she speak?

Speak up woman!

But she seemed to have stopped hearing him a long time ago.

 

First, she looked at her feet, then she looked at his face but her eyes looked lost. They, he knew, were travelling in another galaxy. Her mind was in transit, always swinging back and forth between anxiety and indulgence, future and present, death.. and death.

Her eyes began to look misty before he realised it was his eyes screaming for comfort, not hers.

Her hands reached her face, carefully stroking the strands of hair that had been covering her eyes for the past eternal minute.

Dressed for a perfectly cold winter evening in Delhi, she had her jacket zipped up like always. But today, she seemed cold.

His mind was slowly running out of possible reasons. Before his coherence could tread further, her squeak took over his presence-

“Can you please forgive me?”

He didn't choke.

He didn't want to die.

He didn't feel the dying need to beg or even answer.

His heart didn't break into a gazillion pieces like they did in the romance novels.

He breathed like an old man who had just been informed about a disease he had long anticipated; slowly he turned around and walked away.

No.

But I can keep quiet for the rest of my life and that’s pretty much the same thing.

Ten heavy steps later, he could still feel her icy warmth.

Closed Doors

I was told, and told often,

“Oh Dear you’ll have to walk,

Alone.” I shivered, gulped, stumbled,

And thought, “I’ll wave galaxies with

A swing of my hand, and whisper my will.

But how am I supposed to be happy

When I’m alone, atop my magnificent hill?”

My palm in their hands, they said,

“Remember to keep your stars

Quite close.” I let go, the lies, they told

For sometimes your stars are the ones

Keeping your doors closed.

For My Daughter

Something lovely I found online that I'd like to repost here!

FOR MY DAUGHTER

By Sarah McMane

“Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.” – Clementine Paddleford

Never play the princess when you can
be the queen:
rule the kingdom, swing a scepter,
wear a crown of gold.
Don’t dance in glass slippers,
crystal carving up your toes --
be a barefoot Amazon instead,
for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet.

Never wear only pink
when you can strut in crimson red,
sweat in heather grey, and
shimmer in sky blue,
claim the golden sun upon your hair.
Colors are for everyone,
boys and girls, men and women --
be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles,
not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside.

Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies,
fierce and fiery toothy monsters,
not merely lazy butterflies,
sweet and slow on summer days.
For you can tame the most brutish beasts
with your wily wits and charm,
and lizard scales feel just as smooth
as gossamer insect wings.

Tramp muddy through the house in
a purple tutu and cowboy boots.
Have a tea party in your overalls.
Build a fort of birch branches,
a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of
Queen Anne chairs and coverlets,
first stop on the moon.

Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls,
bold brontosaurus and bookish Belle,
not Barbie on the runway or
Disney damsels in distress --
you are much too strong to play
the simpering waif.

Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy,
paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood.
Learn to speak with both your mind and heart.
For the ground beneath will hold you, dear --
know that you are free.
And never grow a wishbone, daughter,
where your backbone ought to be.