From atop the ancient gnarled oak
An owl looks down on the earth,
Sees people ever running, striving,
Scurrying along the hardened ground.
The pensive bird placidly ponders–
Who are these animals that hurry?
They race, rush, and fret, but why?
When will they open their wings to fly?
The feathered sage rotates his head
To scan the horizon’s circumference.
As the sun sinks ‘neath the skyline,
He sighs, spreads his wings and soars.
Looking out my window
I see a snowman melting
In a slow winter’s rain.
One week ago he didn’t exist.
Created out of youthful joy,
He came to life from the depths
Of little-girl imagination.
Once a praised sculpture
Adorned with scarf and smile,
Now he exists only as
A forgotten puddle of ice,
Misshapen and waning.
The transient nature of a snowman
Causes me to pause and reflect
On the brevity of life
And the short span I have to
Impact the earth around me
Before I melt away.
Ethereal, cellophane, transparent,
She moves through life like a wind.
Looking, acting, feeling, hungering,
But others don’t even notice her being.
She hurts, cries, aches to be seen,
But all that is noticed is rustling trees.
She causes pain, lets flow her blood,
All that is noticed is rain making mud.
Empty, weak, her face low in the dirt,
Learning invisibility can deeply hurt.
I migrate through the multitude.
Pushing through the pack, mile by mile,
I near my quest’s end with each advance.
Steel jaguars prowl and pursue through the
Concrete and metal metropolitan jungle.
Like an intrepid impala, I brave the wilderness
To reach the peaceful oasis on the other side.
In one of our occupational therapy classes last fall, we created sculptures of our hands and had to present them in a way that represented ourselves. This is the short piece I wrote to accompany my hand. Since it ties in very well to the title and intent of this blog, I decided to post it here:
My hand is covered in an old leather work glove. I cut away a few fingers of the glove to illustrate the contrast between the exterior and the interior. The hand hidden inside the glove is pale, delicate, and feminine looking, in contrast to the roughness of its surroundings. The hand can appear to be either completely covered or open and vulnerable, depending on which side it is viewed from. In my life, I have had several facets. The glove symbolizes the ‘rough and tumble’ personality that I developed at a young age as a defense mechanism. A sense of fragility and delicateness lies underneath the rough exterior, symbolized by the white hand and the outline of my wedding band. My sculpture is all about duality– initial appearances can be deceiving. Sometimes you have to dig through a few layers to reach the honesty that hides underneath a protective layer.