the most important person in the house

our choices now come at a rapid fire clip
scrolling through endless libraries of chaff to find the wheat
and this prompts a million tiny decisions
no wonder we are soul-fatgiued
show our taste - our choices
arrange the stream into a particular shape
(not our shape)
the pieces that fit the template
(not our pieces.
we didn't make those)
no creation in this house of cards
the walnut shell game
guess which one hides the good thing
the pea, if chosen, which makes you wiser, more discriminating, better dressed, more interesting intellectual pretty happy funny disaffected
all this is happening under the careful watch of marketing minds
more brains or one brain doesn't really make much difference
look who's telling you they're the most important person in the house
so when i judge myself harshly
fail to use my tools of madness in unexpectedly authentic ways
who says whether i walk the plank
who cares when i have already chosen the long drink of the sea

© e. e. stanley 6/22/12

heart leaf philodendron

sobs slowly subsiding i looked up from my nest to note
the newest leaves of our philodendron catching quiet western light

even in this cramped room they continue to push up unfurl shining
verdant until they join the others less tender that stretch far
from the terracotta base supported on long elegant stems
reaching but still connected
even those leaves that have long since faded
hand down rough kneed scars at intervals

i thought of our hearts branching connected memory
of them growing still close at hand we are all wedded
at the roots even as we split crack wither fall away
it takes the dying leaves a long time to let go
i often help them along pruning out the old and fragile
how is it i cannot do the same with memories of lovers
why should i keep returning to what i have undeniably lost
walking the cities the endless buildings in my dreams only to find
myself at the same closed door over and again
catching old ghosts beside me as leaves on a near branch
stitching together memories snippets fragments of a face
a few handwritten words tucked into a book a whisper of smell

today it broke me open to realize i have yet to give thanks
to bathe luxuriate find release in the grace of gratitude
how lucky am i to have loved those splendid creatures
we are all rising from the dirt spreading open and falling away
even when it is truly finished there is no real separation
if this is not true i must concede that i have gone mad
that eleven times the length of our love should pass but i still yearn and dream of her
or the length of all our knowing has gone on again and i just miss him

20/2/12+27/3/12 © e. e. stanley