Poems by Laura G.

The morning is dark against the window
yet safe, still, familiar.
Now, it is the waiting
for hours sometimes,
days sometimes,
for the light to come.
That takes patience. Fortitude.

Maybe in the middle of the afternoon
comes the capacity to leave
through the door
and into the uncharted.
The unknown.
How will it
all be perceived?
Will the eyes, mind,
distort it into something
harrowing? Perverted?
Stepping out into the undiscovered;
moving cautiously, across the floor
is taking the chance
that contact with reality
will be unfaithful. Confusing.
What a risk!
Into the brick wall...
Down the bottomless well.
What are the repercussions?

People move past
shedding impressions as they do.
Can these be trustworthy?
Can they be depended on
as empirical fact?
For it is upon these impressions
that I react.
There is no other way.

To move into the day knowing
that it is warped - beyond belief
does not instill confidence... 
to say the least.

I walk disconnected
a stray limb in a forest
of winter trees.
Unplugged,
not a place to bond
to attach
to join.
The path is unformed,
I create it as I move forward.
Each step I take
crackles the undergrowth
beneath, flattening it.
There is no one
around to hear it,
if a tree falls in the forest, and there’s nobody around to hear,
does it make a sound?
An age old question.
Do I make a sound walking
if no one is around to hear it?
Do I exist if
there is no one around
to see me?
Yes, I exist. Alone.
Each step now is uncertain.
Each step is harder and heavier.
So I stop.
The sky is cluttered with
tree branches
entangled and dark.
A small bit of sun,
cold sun seeps thru.
I gather my clothing
around me more tightly.
Which way to move next?
Where is the passion that calls to me?
It is silent now,
so I wait.
It is not a comfortable patience.
It is painful.

I want to be able
to go to the
grocery store...
Two times I have been to the one
near to where I live.
First was my initial
outing for food.
When I moved here. Horrifying.
The second stemmed from
desperation
for plain yogurt
because the vet said
that the yogurt
would kill the
cavity forming bacteria
in my dog's mouth.
And they don't sell yogurt at Dollar Tree.
So I had to go.
It was cold that day.
Huge doors open as hot air releases
waiting carts come next.
Shoved together
like steel traps.
Around the next corner:
a football field,
players scattered around
from one distant end
to the other.
Noise, lights, pictures on boxes, cans,
endless floors.
Tall ceilings.
I thought to zip in and out
..but walked until
my feet hurt and
after struggling with the self-check-out
machine until the disgruntled
employee did it for me,
I made it back to my car
and my dear, waiting dog,
so happy to see me.

Does everyone else?
That's what it feels like.
Having babies for instance.
The doctors, nurses, husband by the side.
White sheet, screaming,
then - your self-made creation!
What is that like?
What is it like?
A white wedding,
flowers and endless
tablecloths,
people laughing,
long gown with lace. 
Clapping?
Wedding cakes?
A round table
with piles of presents
wrapped.
Oh, and showers,
babies and bridal.
I don't know.
I mean what does it really feel like
on the inside?
I know linoleum hallways
with doors lined up
on both sides.
And shuffling from one end
to the other.
Med lines and "group" group group
called from the
sidelines.
So we can get in a circle
and look at each other.
I know helplessness.
Agony and defeat.
But birthing a baby,
bringing a life
into this dreary world,
I will never know.
And I wonder about it.
Fairness is not
part of the equation.
It's by chance, I think.

There is no word to describe it.
So vacuous. Empty.
I look around, within, over there over here
Nothing.

Moving along on this journey of aging.
Where is all the stuff?
The stuff of life?
Has it just faded away?
With preoccupation about
Maintenance?
Feed me, wash me, dress me, sleep me.
Each day, check.
shoulders?
Knees?
Hands?

From minimally to moderately,

with pain.
The years tolling by,

each one adding an extra weight

to the bones.
Is the body primary?
No.
There is something else...but I can’t find it right now.
Old inspiration has lost it’s luster…
no longer shimmering above all else.
Good-bye to shimmer.

Can this missing something be manufactured?

Plan an event- walk, talk. Carry out tasks, function.
OK. Have fun? Sure! Whee!
A light flickers in the dark,
then gone. It’s over.

Back home again, jiggety jig.

Cynicism is a bugger.
It hides under the skin, crawling around, breathing ashes.
Useless, but determined. For me, it does not let go.

G-D?
Spirituality. To come into that state,
to summon that presence is work.
I can’t find it right now. Maybe tomorrow.
From nothing comes nothing.
Keep looking Laura, over under, through and through.

HOPE? G-d only knows.

Dreary spotty everywhere
without a smoth to think
dampness resting on the flob
with nothing left to drink.
Wander there wander here
no rest for all the stumblers
awake all night to toss in fear
that sleep is in the donlgers.
Dragging through the stuckle morn
to drift flat on the flongers.
Never caring in a foggy mind
whether it's all right or wrongers.