• Marian Glaser

My Mind, My Toy

Marian Glaser © 1999


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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.

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