He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Cardboard bed sullying scene on Powell near First.
Early city visitors and denizens alike
Walk on
Each disregarding berth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Goes his way
As they charge toward moments of importance.

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Bassett crib, dresser, walls, sports-gear immersed.
Early twenties mother, on-his-way-up dad,
Adore
Observing him with mirth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Left un-noted
Each recorded as a moment of importance.

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Upper bunk, Cardinal life; he leaps headfirst.
Early season trainers and his coach, Division I,
Create
Controlling strength and girth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Issues forth
Without reps plotting moments of importance.

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Metal cot sporting buckles, sheetless now – it’s safety first.
Early-onset illness, medication self-prescribed,
Destroy
Perception, options and self-worth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Springs to mind
Minus demons stealing moments of importance.

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Rolling bedding from the mission, he does curse.
Early morning hangover, a keen desire to die
Heighten
Feral hungers laced with thirst.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Coming lucid
He careens toward final moments of importance.

He is precious.

 

In the shower
Temple rests
Exhale
Cool travertine


Wet heat pelts
Tight lumbar spine
Relief
From grip unseen


Loosen, soft-stroke, ease, release
Stored, hoarded energy


Washed away with day’s decay
Let go, un-hold, be free

 

 

Locked within arthritic body

Yogi, dancer, freedom seeks

To the savior of the moment

She prostrates herself, beseeches ~

Knead away the rigid tightness

Unlock joints, issues stored deep

Cleanse the settled-in arthropathy

Into darkness, let light seep

To warm me, soothe me.

Let me move unfettered

Let me flexibly test flux

Let the tensions gently melt away

‘Neath your well-trained touch

 

I AM better.

It took years to purge the hurt, the pain

Remove the stain

Release what remained

Of the deep humiliation.

White trash label from parents of friends

Grandfather who’d not make amends

Father, mean drunk, nights, weekends

Relatives who’d deny and defend

Then reprimand

Because I spoke up.

Raw.

Wronged.

Banged the gong.

Told the tale ~ told the truth.

Offered proof.

“Every family has secrets.”

“They’re no better than us.”

“You’re no better than us, little miss high and mighty.”

But I was.

Sometimes there is better or worse.

And all you have to do is choose.

I AM better.

*Thanks to Sunday Scribblings for the prompt ~ raw
*And to Writer’s Island for secret

 

I considered photographing the image reflected in my screen, but opted for an in-progress shot of one of my paintings so as not to garner a higher than PG rating. :-)

About to jump into the shower as

The muse struck

I ran, naked, to the keyboard

And wrote the five syllable line

That would otherwise have dissipated with the hot steam.

While sitting there,

My sunlit torso reflected back at me in the screen, bare.

“It is beautiful,” I thought.

Yes.

The breasts are slack,

The neck, weather-worn,

Décolletage, mottled with spots.

But it is utterly feminine and firm and strong

And safe within lies the heart of a lion

A big, bold, beautiful lion

Who, in her nakedness, really needs a shower.

© 2012 Kim Nelson Writes Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha