garble, private, breathe, joy, wildWrite about a time you were jealous.
We Have A Winner!!! 03/01/10
I'm a Private in this war so wild.Winner: C. Beth (@cbethblog)
I hear your garbled call to your child.
I breathe a sad sigh--
And ask, "Why can't I
Have that joy you had when you dialed?"
Reason: I just liked it a lot. So it wins because I said so.
5 comments:
I don't know why I was suddenly stuck on John. I left him a couple of months ago. It was a huge relief until I heard about the new girl. "You are the only one, " he had frequently said to me, "that can bring this much joy into my life." The first time it was corny and sweet. I had laughed and then kissed him. After that, whenever he said it, I wanted to retch into the nearest wastebasket. But the thought of him saying it to someone else made me wild with jealousy. I had to know if there really was another girl or if this was some master plan to win me back.
"So, what did you hear?" Linda, my best friend asked me when I approached the bar.
"Garble." I responded. My frustration was palpable. I had been so careful calculating my plan. I thought I had it all figured out! Come to find out, I didn't. I forgot to take into consideration that the water would be running and other men would probably be at the urinal after the game. John and his buddy would not be in there alone. Sneaking into the only private stall in the men's room left me feeling dirty and disillusioned.
Linda pat me on the back. "Breathe." she said. When I looked at her, she removed her hand and ordered me a stiff drink instead.
I'm a Private in this war so wild.
I hear your garbled call to your child.
I breathe a sad sigh--
And ask, "Why can't I
Have that joy you had when you dialed?"
ugh! I wrote this whole thing spontaneously before I realized it didn't have anything to do with my being jealous. I don't really get jealous. Anyway, I suppose it could be interpreted that Tom was jealous of the wild turkeys and wanted to be one.
garble, private, breathe, joy, wild
Tom Turkey looked left than right, listening to the garbled, high-pitched sound of the traffic screaming by on Highway 37. He hid the brush under which he'd slept; The spot was private but still close to the Highway. The old farm dog hadn't seen him flee skirt under the barnyard fence but he still felt safer under cover. Tom put his head down, closed his eyes and took a few minutes just to breathe. When he heard a lull in the traffic he threw his head up and out of the shrub he ran, feathers flying, his nails just barely touching the blacktop as he sped across 3 lanes. A car blared its horn and he felt it whiz by his tail just as he dove into the periwinkle.
"I'm safe!" he thought. He stood up and shook off the whole experience before bellowing a GOBBLEGOBBLE of joy as he strutted off into the wild.
I never allow myself to cry in public; I save the tears and the weakness for private. This is my life, regardless of the fact that my DNA may have gotten a bit garbled and needed spell check. When I fasten my feet into my wheelchair and strap on my leather gloves to protect my hands from the friction of the wheels, I do not feel sorry for myself. Instead I feel thankful for all the years I was able to hike and walk and dance with wild abandon. I feel joy as I dance a new dance, as I reclaim independence, as I refuse to be defined by the world. Until I see one of "them" and my stomach turns cartwheels with anger and jealousy. They have no appreciation for all that they have, for the magical and wonderful abilities they possess in a healthy body. I watch and swallow tears of frustration, reminding myself to breathe, as I hear one of them talk with pride about how she has thrown her life away. In a garbled voice I mutter "And SHE is the one who is healthy and able to walk!?!" I guess some people do not know the greatness of what they had until it is too late. I am glad that I knew all along. And in the end I realize that I would not trade places with her for anything.
I wish that I could make you stop,
or garble the wild joy you breathe,
with every easy word that escapes,
your lips so free of care and tears.
In public, it's you I want to mock.
In private, it's you I want to be .
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