Before Going Farther
Before going farther, situate yourself in your everyday world to ascertain what lives around you as a special food for what is slowly starved if left unourished. There’s the robin scuttling along the side of the garage in the hot noonday sun, convinced it is being chased by who knows what, and forgetting it has wings. It runs beneath a pink rose that wobbles in solitary elegance atop a spindly new shoot whose thorns point to the sky, as do all things gradually escaping dead wood. Go to the dusty border and step under the blue spruce that grows thick with sheltering needles, reminiscent of mountains where forests of such trees gather to uphold their spires. And don’t forget the clump of black-eyed Susans at your feet, the ones set ablaze by the light, fuel for what rockets orange into the sky and coats the sun with its evening glory.
Prophecy
“You can’t carry a tune, and you can’t sing.” These are things I remember being told as a child, and so of course they became prophecy. And their prophecy and its fulfillment became a portion of the ground upon which I worshiped the All-knowing.
They wished the best for me— told me this over and over— yet I saw the outward glances— scanning,tense— poised to intercede, should an embarrassment break out in the shape of a tune that sprang from my All-unknowing— the kind you can’t carry, but that carries you.
Stephanie Unger
Image: Rose on White by Hannah Stouffer
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