Just Because

Litany

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

Billy Collins

It's Complicated

Simply put, we overcomplicate. We all do. There seems to be a trendy sort of sophistication in complexity. Pithy likes trendy--clear up until they remembered their preference for the innocuous actual--(is that borderlining it?). The fact that no one understands you doesn't make you an artist. Over-analyzing can often lead to trouble.

This week bends our minds around paradoxes. Empty your mind--only then can you be filled. Education is gaining knowledge of your ignorance. Believe those who are seeking Truth--doubt those who advertise they have it. Mind pilates (that's pill-aht-ees Prudence ;-). While attractive super model minds do sound nice, we catch ourselves occasionally longing for yesterday's jumping jacks and soccer.

Don't get us wrong--we like our new words. Tarradiddle sounds good on a well-oiled tongue, but maybe we could just settle for "pretentious nonsense?" We like that we know the Chinese can't spell--that Toa Te Ching is actually said Dow Day Zzhing. That oughta be handy in saving us from some future embarrassment--some day when we need to look smart. But we find ourselves ready to bargain looking the part for the simple intersection of knowing what to do, how to do it, and the integrity to accomplish it.

After laughing at ourselves--or crying--or laughing so we don't cry--or meeting the concrete wall, we are ready to confess. Tom made peanut-butter pasta. It was weird and pasty and as perfectly awful as it sounds (no Kevin, peanut butter does not make everything taste better). Jerry burned the potatoes. The house smelled funny, and yes--he didn't realize they were burning and he checked the heater in his room first--on all fours, sniffing the floor. Things slip from our mouths and hover in the air long enough for us to realize how dumb they sounded--"I could mean so much more to you..."--and then we laugh and prefer the dumb words to what we actually meant. We stumble and oafishly manage, "That was deliberate." Funny thing is, it kinda was--the Universe's attempt to catch us at our blunders and help us realize that it's how you pick yourself up, not the fact that you tripped, that measures your smarts. It's not complicated. It's deliciously simple, and it satisfies.

A Letter

Dear Writer's Block,

We need to talk. Breaking up is hard to do, and it's always messy--but I can't keep living this lie. I still care about you, but I just don't feel the same way you do--I love you, but I'm not in love with you. Honestly, you're like a sister to me. I'm not ready for this kind of commitment--you want more than I'm prepared to give. We're both so young, I just can't think about forever. I think we would be better off friends.

It's not you it's me. It's how I don't seem to fit you anymore. I think I have potential to expand and try new avenues of creativity, but I feel stifled with you. We should see other people. I need more--I need to write. There are stories and poems and random thoughts that must be articulated. I can never belong to just one--especially one so possessive. I just can't do this anymore.

Please understand and don't feel bad. You have everything to live for--you're young and intelligent, but I have so much baggage.

To clarify any ambiguity in my message: I regret to inform you that, under a plan for the periodic removal of unpleasantness from my life, I must terminate our affair. You have no choice but to comply with the court orders unless you wish to face stalking charges. Should you persist, I will enter the witness protection program.

Love Always,

Writer.