Quiet.
And the sheets
are red.
Alone,
in the crimson
morning,
I write,
I'm not sure why,
but I think
I love him.
I'd be all right
with a child.
Take me
to the Arizona
night sky.
I'm guessing
that every mosquito,
and every tree limb,
and every single
thunder crack back
has lived with
such a feeling.
If I could, I'd ask the ant,
or maybe the cheetah.
Here and now,
out there, someone
is blindsided
by a naked,
Iceland afternoon,
feeling the life there,
from smooth skin
to wrinkles. Quiet.
Yes, the sheets
are red. Alone,
in the crimson
morning.
C.A. MacConnell
11/24/2020
11/20/2020
Thanksgiving
Grandchildren --
Papers came Sunday
With the milk.
Grandchildren --
Do you remember
The lions.
-- C.A. MacConnell
Papers came Sunday
With the milk.
Grandchildren --
Do you remember
The lions.
-- C.A. MacConnell
11/17/2020
11/16/2020
Choosing Peace.
Choosing Peace
an essay I wrote some time ago. I was thinking about the idea of choosing peace right now, and I thought I'd repost. Much love to you, C.A.
A while back, I was driving through the side streets in a shifty part of
town. It was pitch black in those alleys, and when I looked out into
the night, I saw a lone, dark shape smack in the center of the road. I
squinted, hit my brakes, and looked closer. The shape was distorted, as
if there were too many arms. I looked closer. Crutches.
Then I saw that she wasn’t an adult woman at all. She was a girl around
thirteen years old, and she only had one leg. The right one. There she
was, wandering around in the dark, hobbling on her crutches, and from
the hip down, on the left side, there was nothing but air. Alone, she
slowly made her way down that dark street. For a moment, she stopped,
looked through my windshield, and stared at me. Hard. Strong. Not a
twitch, a flinch, or a break in her look. And then she turned, making
her way forward into the shadows.
As I drove on, I thought about the tough look on her face, and I
wondered what had happened to her -- how and when she lost that leg.
Then I thought about what it might be like to be her -- a young teen
making her way through the world with a disability that was so fiercely
apparent. Of course, I could never really know what it would be like to
be her. I could never truly understand the exact challenges she would
face in the neighborhood, at school, and in her entire world, inside and
out.
And then I thought about her strong countenance, her steel-sharp look,
and the way that she moved forward in spite of her disability, trooping
through the dark streets despite the danger all about her. No, I could
never fully understand the way that she would feel, but I felt a raging
connection to her. I couldn’t shake the vision of her. It touched me. It
stuck with me.
Today, thinking of her, I'm reminded to pick and choose my battles.
Over the years, at times, when I saw injustice directed toward those
with disabilities, I stood up, spoke out, spoke up, or wrote about it,
although it took a great deal of strength, and it was often draining and
incredibly difficult; sometimes it affected me for years after. Indeed,
right here, right now, as I write to you, I'm remembering the aftermath
of some of the comments -- the stress, stigma, panic, judgment, and the
like. And then I remember the other comments -- the letters, emails,
thank yous, the ones that made it all worth it.
Other times, I let go, or "let things slide," as I like to say, and I
trudge forward in spite of the darkness that may be around me, like her.
I can share my story and help when it feels heart-right, but at other
times, I can hold it close. Indeed, it is hard to find that balance, but
through experience, I have certainly gathered a lot of knowledge over
the years. Lately, I've been focusing on my own journey; I've decided
that the best way to fight is to live my life to the fullest, to be an
example of truth and strength, in the best way that I know how. Flawed
at times, sure, but I'm giving it my best shot.
So let me be strong in the darkest of alleys and speak up when it’s
right and true, when the moment calls for it, but also, let me be aware
of the times when I need to allow myself to settle into peace, and let
me embrace the wisdom to know the difference. That little girl reminded
me that whether I'm fighting strong or listening and meditating, I can
choose to be true to myself, and I can choose peace.
C.A. MacConnell
