Archive for November, 2011

In remembrance

I close my eyes in remembrance.
It seems I can still smell the breakfasts my mom made once upon a time when I was a girl.
Shy, nervous full of trepidation and wavering on the threshold of womanhood.
Home a place of comfort and security like a walled garden.
Mom’s protection constant though sometimes in the shadows.
Giving me the courage to rebuff the glances of men young and old.
My smiles innocent and tender unknowingly enticing.
I know I’ve changed my body is no longer the same, who I’m I?
This girl, not yet fully woman, I don’t know what I want or even where I’m going?
What do they want from me?
No answers to the questions ricocheting in my brain. Jumbled ideas, confused thoughts, a chaotic melodrama greets my every waking moment.
A yearning for things, imagined yet unknown.
The loud whispers of society, careless keepers of secrets as old as time.
The swing of suggestive hips, of women passing in the streets, men and their long smiling glances full of promise.
What is this mystery that pulls so enticingly on my heart strings?
My undeveloped mind thinks it understands, can control the emotions and hormones bubbling and simmering just below the surface.
Oh! The angst of simultaneously loving and hating, parent’s siblings and everything human.
They don’t understand!
Shunning peers then welcoming them gleefully.
This expansive feeling, almost an unbearable longing, to belong to somebody defies understanding.

by Joszann St.John

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In Your eyes

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A walk in the fog

Today was an early morning
My alarm radio pulled me groaning from bed
The mad rush to feed my children and catch the school bus a most urgent priority.
Out of shape huffing, puffing and lagging behind.
Fog, thick, dense, grey and seemingly impenetrable envelops us.
In the dawn of a dark Canadian morning.

The landscape of our neighborhood almost unrecognizable under this heavy blanket
Resting so securely on everything it touches.
It takes the eyes sometime to adjust
Almost blindly trying to focus, I’m able to penetrate only the immediate five to seven feet ahead.
The trees that line the sidewalk and park nearby seem like hulking giants ready to pounce.
This fog is not like any I’ve known before.

It’s grey mass not just suspended above our heads but weighty anchored and stretching from ground to sky.
It reminds me of a river I once was in; I couldn’t swim and fell in much deeper and further than I wanted too. Its murky obscure depths scared me as I fought my way to the surface again.
Senses acute, silence! I’ve sent the children ahead, a row of school buses stand waiting door ajar their temporary charges some already onboard.

No birds calling to each other this morning.
The only luminescence an occasional vehicle passing nearby, its light flitting once, twice and no more.
This morning unlike no other makes the ritual of the everyday, a mockery, reality a fragile non entity.

By Joszann St.John

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