—-∞∞—-
Thundering, blowing rain
A squall
Wind-whipped leaves
Vegetables in the prisoners’ garden
Planted in the housing unit yard
By the fence
While a desolate place
Nurturing rain
Growth
Symbols of life’s hope
Grace overcoming bleakness
Pushing aside despair
Sheltered under an overhang
I watch and wait
Far from the chapel
Where men also wait
Four locked gates away
I watch and wait
© 2017 Thomas W. Cummins
Is it just sitting there waiting?
The future, that is.
Or is it there at all?
Yet, whatever it is, it looms
Often dreaded,
Occasionally filled with hope.
Our present steps into that future.
Or, perhaps, the future comes toward us
As our past is pulled away.
Pulled away with its regrets and joys.
Pulled away with its dreams
Fulfilled or deferred.
Aren’t we left, really, with only today?
Today, the present, belongs to both
Past and future.
Who I am is a remnant of my own past.
My present is experienced by no other
My future waits for me alone.
©2017 Thomas W. Cummins
Slightly darker
On the pale carpet of the bunkhouse
My socks are located
In the dim light
I get dressed
It’s that point
Neither night nor day
Muted even further
By towering trees
In the woods
An eastern horizon
Gives no hint of daybreak
Nor any hint of what the day may hold
What a seamless series of nows
May present
©2017 Thomas W. Cummins
Tuft by tuft
Pulled by the cold night air
Like feathers, heat leaves our bedroom
On this winter’s night
Reaching down
A second blanket is found
Pulled up around the neck
Warmth enfolds, sleep returns
© 2017 Thomas W. Cummins
I heard it fall
It was just a leaf
A tiny dried leaf
Yet when it fell
Alone on the wood porch
I stopped
On that warm, sunny, summer day
A slight chill
Fall foreshadowed
Another season
Suddenly present
© 2016 Thomas W. Cummins
Turmoil and pain from events, even if separated by 30 years, can be reawakened by the words of a poem.
In Desert Run, Mitsuye Yamada reflects upon her family’s time in an internment camp during World War II. In the last stanza are these words:
I cannot stay in the desert
where you will have me nor
will I be brought back in a cage
to grace your need for exotica.
I write these words at night
for I am still a night creature
but I will not keep a discreet distance
If you must fit me to your needs
I will die
and so will you.
When I re-read those words a few months ago, moments of shunning and rejection came creeping back out of dark passages in my life. Most assuredly, there have been times when I couldn’t/wouldn’t, or can’t/won’t, dance to the tune of someone else. To have done so would have been sacrificial and destructive to my own sense of self and well-being. This isn’t about following instructions or performing job expectations. Rather there have been behavioral and performance expectations of the most unreasonable and servile nature.
What is most interesting to me has been the astonishment and rage, punishment and revenge, observed and experienced as a result. Not bending in order to conform to a misinformed and delusional notion of who I am, or who I should be, comes from my unwillingness to be an enabler. Been there, done that, the ‘walking-on-eggshells’ thing.
As you can see, Ms. Yamada’s poetic reflection struck a nerve with me. Much suffering has come from my resistance. But I must not create a false self to meet unreasonable expectations of others. Nor can I sit idly by and await the next page for me to recite from an unshared and unexplained script. I’ve never been very good at playing guessing games.
If you must fit me to your needs
I will die
and so will you.
In a dim light... 