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(after Climbing by Lucille Clifton) Each morning I rise hungry for the race 52 feels like 22 except now I stretch eat oatmeal don’t drink myself into oblivion I know that the end isn’t close and it also isn’t far along this rutted trail I have wanted oh, how I have wanted resolution peace love falling deep crashing like a waterfall I have wanted more time maybe I should have wanted less 
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It wasn’t the black water or the yawning hum, not the solitude, the floating questions I could not name. It was the cattails, cinnamon bodies long-limbed, ceremonious as if shelter depended upon nothing but this open sky, sunshine slipping through to rest awhile.  When I was the forest, I thought I’d be young forever. It was easy to undulate when the breeze flirted by, feeling lovely and large. There is nothing more beautiful than green leaves in the spring and I was drunk with power. But all things end, nothing is as it seems, and now that I am a desert boulder, rough and grayed with no softness inside, I have nothing to hold onto except this graffiti skin and the bright sun in my eyes.  Letting her go is impossible Until I taste the truth of it Holding her close Like a dog chained in the back Barking when the storms come But not welcome in the house Has given roots to this grief I take what I love inside Sugar sauce seeping down In the warm kitchen  |
Who am I?I’m a systems engineer and creative coach living in ABQ, NM. I believe that we can intentionally design our lives to align with our deepest dreams and desires. 
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