Confusion, curiosity, daring, absurdity!
Trying, effortlessly succeeding!
Failing. Flat lining. Frustrated.
No lingering pains.
Friends from proximity.
Education dictated; as are rules.
Segregation of sexes.
Ideals challenged, like mothers.
Make-up. Made-up. Trying on personas.
Fitting into an individual pattern – finally.
www.lisa.beere.ca
The Good Fight
I thought I knew what I was going to do.
Then, I arrived.
Suddenly, it all seemed so absurd.
How could such minute efforts on my part, alter existence?
How had reality become so skewed?
In such a labyrinthine situation, could single actions towards momentum push into an effort enabling the greater good?
Could I alone make a difference?
My aging hands, tiny and frail upon keyboards, strong when whisking cake batter and youthful still despite brown blotches - when in comparison to my 101 year old grandmother’s…could they make a difference?
www.lisa.beere.ca
UNACCEPTED CONTINUUM
Red bird
Sitting all alone on the wire
Surveying the grassy knoll beneath
Wondering
Where his mate has flown
While each inch of nature around him
Becomes encroached
As we continue to build our homes
Pushing
Into territories so specialized
That species marked for extinction
End as the last one dies
Buildings continue rising out of the land
Replacing trees from where they now stand
Silently
Our rush to urbanize
To colonize each parcel of land
Bringing us all to the brink
Where no species may exist
All because we continually fail
To acknowledge our need to co-exist
Continually
Blind Hippo in an Elevator
Elevator was supposed to keep going up!
but office politics caused an early opening of the door
the man who entered resembled a rather large… hippo
but I saw past the form into details, so much, that I discovered his eyes were both made of glass
knowing I was no longer seen on what had been an upward trajectory, made my grief uncontrollable
MY BOY JON
MY BOY JON
Each day my Jon spends hours lining up his cars
Red ones, blue ones, then green
On he goes, through the colour wheel
Organizing each row to be “just so”
Then and only then, he’ll come to the table
Dragging his purple, stuffed ape, with one eye in his chubby, wet hand
His fingers are slickened by constant sucking
Up the ape goes
Flopping onto our decrepit table
Stained from years of use and coffee dripping down the sides of mugs
Even its edges are worn
Caught in one corner of the table
I notice a tiny fragment from last night’s dress
I hadn’t realized during our rambunctiousness
That it had torn
My husband and I, of course…
While young Jon slept on
Curled in his spaceman-sheeted bed
Under Buzz’s matted down comforter
But I digress
Its morning now
The sun is streaming through the kitchen window as I pour
Rounded bits of what passes as cereal into Jon’s bowl
Then
To avoid a torrent of autistic frustration
I stop to pick
Out comes each pink piece
For only girls like pink
Jon stoically informed me a year ago
No way was he wanting pink in his cereal bowl
After, I’m careful to balance the weight of the spoon
“Just so”
It now lies on top of the cereal
Waiting for Jon’s attention
“Good Mommy! Good Mommy!”
He piles on the praise
A smile forms on my cracked lips
Milk too?
He eagerly asks
With a slight touch of drool
I lean over and catch it with my finger tips
Relenting on my intention to withhold
I hand him what’s left of our milk
Watching with some regret
Each drip
A miniature pool of drips forms on the cereal’s surface
I want to shake it down to the bottom
But if I give in
Lean over
And take it away
To shake it for him
“Good Mommy” will turn into “rotten”
Picking up my mug
To choke back my coffee
Black
I can’t help but place my fingertip on the rim
Starting to make circles around the mug
Over
And
Over
Again
My husband’s hand now tops mine
He gently lifts it off
Taking the mug
At the same time
“Be calm” he reminds me
Inclining his head towards our boy
I would do anything for Jon
He truly is my pride and joy
I watch him now
Placing the spoon into his mouth
And try desperately
To hide my shudder
At his sudden slurp
My husband’s arm is around my shoulder now
The right one
It always has to be the right one
Together we stand strong
He offers to do the cutting up
Prepping the meat for Jon’s sandwich
Which I had forgotten… again
Together, we prepare
Carrots
Which I scrub so clean they actually gleam
Under our fluorescent lights
A juice box too
Is selected after singing a song
It’s just a little ditty
But it’s something I need
In order to “get along”
Jon asks for a cookie to add to the lunch
Inside, I suddenly have a “bad hunch”
Pulling the lid of the faded, ceramic pig
I stick in my whole forearm
But, no matter how much I dig
The last one… is gone
I start to smack my hand on the counter
Over
And
Over
It just keeps getting louder
Jon comes now to my side
It’s his arms around me
Holding me tight
I am embarrassed
But try to calm down
Despite my loss of pride
I know Jon is right
We’ll get it under control
Together
The "lie" is the Reader assumes Jon the child has autism and it's actually his Mother.