My Mind, My Toy
Marian Glaser © 1999
I can remember every evil my first husband committed
and relive each pain.
I can remember a soft cheek under mine,
my hands holding a back I love.
That filled my awareness but not
the muscles that must have ached.
Joy and laughter are like eternity
because they fill my horizon.
I’ll accept other fillers offered or
daydream my own,
letting images of freedom replace this reality where
I am lying in a bed or
sitting in a wheelchair, a job for others.
I have imagined crossing a river of fire
to be with my love,
seen us both grow white, blue and pink wings
that allowed us to fly and find
a private spot to linger under a tree,
on flower sprinkled grass,
while we enjoyed each other.
I prefer daydreams to this twilit room
with the falling curtain rod and burnt-out bulb.
I’d like each of my quanta to become
part of the dance God seems to be choreographing.
Trying to hear the music to time my move
to add my mite to an unseen pattern
takes all my small energy.
Transitions move me, make me want to change
my sadness to joy, accept with laughter
the absurdity of a bath giving me a blue bum or
my cup pouring ice cold water on me or
my sharp right toenail leaving a long scratch
on the back of my shaking right hand.
Maybe my mortal corpse is the chrysalis
of an immortal butterfly with powers
surpassing all my daydreams.