Completely missing the target
an arrow in my hand, gripping it tightly,
it fell at my feet from my sweaty palms,
blisters already forming.
Walking along a highway in
the night with no coat
to keep me warm,
I see a solitary armadillo
looking for its meal.
I won’t stop to chat about the weather.
Instead I’ll ask how it feels
to have year-round shelter from the cold.
Knowing I may not get an answer,
I’ll continue on that road,
hoping I won’t stumble …
Red Wolf Journal Spring 2014, and a fresh start
10 years ago
Posts
But until tonight,
ReplyDeleteas we snuggled in the delicious intimacy
of true lovers,
jigsaw pieces in a perfect fit,
this apartment was not Home....
love the details or words..divine entry.
Cheers.
A++
This poem expresses so well our life's journey. We are never really "at home." Also a great sense of place.
ReplyDeleteAt risk of repeating myself: another lovely mix of serious and fun.
ReplyDeletei am anxious to know what lies behind these parables of yours haha! here's mine in case you have not read~ http://fiveloaf.wordpress.com/2010/03/12/broken-home/
ReplyDeleteThanks Jingle.
ReplyDeleteLife's journey can be filled with potholes, Victoria.
ReplyDeleteSerious and ridiculous Dave :)
ReplyDeleteI would like to know also, fiveloaf.
ReplyDeleteI love the armadillo. Somehow, his home-on-home seems like the best of all worlds. And you never know - just once he might give an answer,
ReplyDeleteAgreed RJ, an interesting animal,
ReplyDeletebut I am almost certain one
is never going to speak to me:)
Nothing is certain but uncertainly. Living with ambiguity and dislocation: that's life journey. Fine contribution to Potluck, Pam. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThat is the absolute truth, Jamie
ReplyDeleteThanks for potluck!