dogeeseseegod

A portrait of myself as a pendulum: watch me

break the serenity of the faraway sea, swinging back and forth from the

comfort of a whistling breeze and the chaos of howling winds. If

dilly-dally could be a name, call me by it. Why does my doubt seem

everlasting, all-encompassing, unwavering? I have

foregone the steel of my confidence, put the flimsy hesitance in its place.

Growing old without ever learning—all this time I’ve wasted in leaving a

hole in my pocket, pennies of wisdom falling on the road like cracker crumbs.

I remember an old idiom, how when the crows turn white, it must mean

joy won’t ever come; it must mean that all possibilities are

killed. 

Looking out my kitchen window, I fear that the chirping birds I see will

morph into crows that no longer look like crows.

Never mind that I’m still expecting the lines on my palms to be an

Ouija board, as if my hands would spell out where my future

paths would converge or diverge. Endless

questions plague us—this must be the catch of being human.

Rubbing my fingers against yesterday’s

scars, I wonder which lessons of these life souvenirs were left like

tumbleweeds in the desert, aimless and unowned. Would you help me

understand? My childhood heart beamed with valor, only to become

vacant as the years and yearnings piled up. Here I stand shackled,

wishing my tomorrows would streamline. If only my choices can be

xeroxed time and time again, with no need to oscillate between

yes or no. Stop or go. To or fro. The end comes and my brain is a

zigzagging course, like the chicken-intestine road toward my aunt’s town.