The observer follows us down the beach, but ducks into the bushes when we turn around. From November 2021, Marrowstone Island.
For Cee’s Flower of the Day.
The observer follows us down the beach, but ducks into the bushes when we turn around. From November 2021, Marrowstone Island.
For Cee’s Flower of the Day.
mirror mirror
I am culpable as the mirror
hiding hiding hiding
curious about you
what is it you want to see?
I am always surprised
when a man lays his fantasy over me
I have hidden and studied people
for many years
now realize that that is why
the fantasy gets overlaid
I did not know
I was hiding behind a mirror
I think about four men
serial monogamy
over fifteen years
a year break after each
a mirror reflects
a man’s own anima: his ideal woman
all four so different
yet there is a thread that binds
trauma like my trauma
and closer and closer to an opposite
I do not want to be a mirror
any more
the connection of the damaged child
I tried so very hard not to trigger
until the mirror broke
I hold pieces up in my bleeding hands
they leave when the mirror breaks
now I understand
this time was hardest and least hard
at the same time
I could almost see what was happening
almost
and now I can see
and break the pattern with the mirror
my friend says
why don’t you let them see
who you really are?
they would never have let me work
I had to wear the doctor mask
even with other doctors
the nurses and the staff saw through it
right away
they’d call me for patient needs
and knew I’d answer
did I have to wear the doctor mask
or did I wear it to feel safe?
water over the dam
but it’s time to take down the dam
and be myself
and not a mirror
I didn’t know this quiet woman is me
_________________________
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: ART!
I have seen the frogs
in the northwest
all you have to do is be quiet
near the puddles
or a pond
walk there very very quietly
in the spring they are singing
to each other
calling
a symphony of longing and joy
and they don’t hear me
when I walk very quietly
at the end of the world
as a child my father teaches me
to catch frogs
very quietly
approach the pond
or puddle
if the frog hears you
it will duck under water
you will only see a ripple
spreading out
or it will hop
into the woods
and hide
my father
would occasionally use frogs
as bait
to catch northern pike
a live frog on a hook
frogs scream
when you stick a hook through their back
I hope they go into shock then
and don’t feel much
one we’d seen this
my cousins and my sister and I
when my father got his fishing rod
we’d run through the woods
yelling “Hide the frogs, hide the frogs!”
and we would catch any frog
that was dumb enough not to hide
and quickly set it in the woods
to hide it from my father
we would check the puddles, too
feeling in the brownish muck
to make sure no frog was hidden
in the shallow puddle
come out, you must go in the woods
to survive
to catch the smart ones
normally
we would tiptoe to the puddle
hoping a frog was facing the other way
if they saw us, they were gone
slowly bend down, hand out
behind the frog
reach gently
grab just above the back legs
not too hard, don’t squish it
I was under ten
on a canoe trip
when I run to my father
“A frog! A frog! The biggest frog I’ve seen!
Papa, come help!”
My father comes.
An enormous frog is beside the canoe.
“Catch it.” says my father.
“Please! You catch it!” I beg.
My father creeps up on the frog.
His hand moves out slowly.
He grabs the frog, who tries to jump
and croaks, a bass, huge mouth.
“It’s a young bullfrog,” says my father.
“It will get even bigger.”
He hands it to me.
I take it carefully, shaking a little.
“We could eat it’s legs.”
“NO!” I say. I just want to hold it for a minute.
I turn it over and gently stroke it’s throat.
The frog goes limp, mesmerized.
I set it down gently, right side up,
near the water.
I squat by the frog and wait.
I am waiting for it to wake up.
The frog is so beautiful.
I wait until it wakes up
and returns home.
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