The Wicker Will Weave

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The Wicker Will Weave

 

 

If you ask how I'm doing... not very well;

just getting by, as far as I can or will tell;

Going down for the count, on a count of one,

on account of, you're done; I had barely begun.

 

I am merely a glass of water, you an artesian well;

Choice was mine, circle the drain, or break your spell.

Gaze at a different mountain, climb a different cloud,

Hang up a different veil, lift a different shroud.

 

Don't bother with details, burden of proof is on me;

Dispelling rumors, debunking myths; I hold that key.

I never listened when she implied I give up my boyish ways,

Now swept away; recalling what she decreed our end of days...

 

 

when she said...

 

“I wonder what lengths you might go, to keep me close,

when I begin to drift away, as I will inevitably will do.

Dropping my guard along the way, you got closer than most.

Did it ever occur to you, I was just passing through?

 

Somewhere in the process, you relaxed, dropped defenses.

Does this implied epiphany really catch you off guard?

Either way, don't beat yourself up for taking chances.

When silence settles, does it matter who had the last word?”

 

 

I readily admit, when that hammer fell, I was ill equipped;

It was a hard pill to swallow when I saw how far I'd slipped;

Time wasted like excess sap on the side of a maple tree,

Waters that were tried and true and tread, swept from me.

 

Find me now, sitting on a park bench, in search of clues;

Past the stage of mourning, no ready breath left to accuse.

Outsourcing emotion is a bad habit, one hard to kick;

Surely it is possible to teach an old dog one new trick.

 

Why get back up on that pony, with no finish line in sight?

Because I did not give up or give in without a fair fight?

She sure seemed happy, for one caught in throws of divorce,

When she laid down her law to me, in her matter of course...

 

 

as she said...

 

“Relationships tiered, on multiple levels, assembled in stages;

When the clock says closing time, one degree of separation;

Hold on to a renegade mood with all your might, read gauges;

My eyes reflect no measure of shared guilt or explanation.

 

Take at face value, merely my way of offering fair warning;

Reference material, should you go back and look for clues.

It is your choice, should you choose a lifetime of mourning.

It is my choice to break the ties that bind, as I now choose.”

 

 

So here I dwell, in search of some alternative solution.

And, I really do believe in the healing power of absolution.

And, I know she spoke the truth, saying I have a choice.

When all is said and heard, the answers come from my voice.

 

When the lights go down and truth comes out, as I perceive;

My toe dipping in the water, too close to the edge to leave;

As postcards from a vacation conjure solace, grant reprieve,

The only voice I hear now is mine, and I am geared to receive.

 

For all said and done, I'd still meet her halfway, I believe,

I will always keep her in my heart and wear it on my sleeve.

But until such amend, I will no longer be found to bereave;

The curtain will come to call, and the wicker will weave.

 

 

Michael Todd (2014)