Today I sit on the bottom step,
No fear of falling down.
But I cannot shake the feeling,
Another me sits up there reeling;
It’s getting tough not to turn around.
-a.r.
Staircase Descended
•September 12, 2014 • 4 CommentsBracelet (Repost)
•September 11, 2014 • Leave a CommentToday I wear a bracelet
Which is thirteen years old
I wear it this day every year
For memories, lessons that it holds
It was made for us in gratitude
For being there and holding up
The families of those who died
That somber day in Washington
Crafted by hand in Glory’s colors
That once were bright without a mark
Each year the colors fade a bit
And the beads become more scarred
At first I made an effort
To keep it quite pristine
But on this day I realize
Value is not in keeping clean
The dirt and scratches simply show
Thirteen years of life we’ve lived
We’re not defined by cracks and tears
But by what of ourselves we give
Dear bracelet, you’ll be on my wrist
On this very day each year
Until one of us lets go that thread
Life well worn out for those not here
-A.R.
The bracelet made, and given to me, by a volunteer at the Pentagon days after September 11, 2001 to thank those of us who escorted families to view the site where their loved ones died that horrific day. I am proud to have stood there with them, to have wept with them, to have heard about their loved ones, to have been available. It is one of my saddest, but proudest, days in the military.
A Choice
•September 9, 2014 • 2 CommentsYou
Are the stray hair
Caught in my eyelash there
During silent sitting
You
Are the hot knot
Churning hungry in my gut
While I am sitting still
You
Are the bones
Below my toes grinding
Into the ground
When I chose not to move
You
Are the decision
I may have to make
Once I get up
To go through my day
I
For now will simply feel
The tug and sting in my eye
The rot and rumble in my gut
The gristly grating in my bones
The desire to choose in my chest
I
Will sit with
You
-a.r.
The Broken Column, Frida Kahlo
The Game
•September 5, 2014 • Leave a CommentIt is time
To let my mind tumble
Like little labeled chips in a bingo game
It is the moment when I watch them spin
A jumble of numbered thoughts
Falling all over themselves, fighting
For the chance to be pulled from the lot
But not yet
The Game Master’s hand still grinds
Away, with a gleeful grin on his face
So I sit and stare and listen to the clicking
Anticipation will not help me now
Better just to wait and let the game go on
Knowing soon the wheel will stop
The lettered tiles will settle themselves
And all will go silent
A potential winning one will be in hand
Played with and fiddled between fingers
Spoken and spelled and placed face up
That is when I act and it will be
Either, a winner or a dud
B38
-a.r.
The Bingo Losers by Jonathon Williams, Fineartamerica.com
See Me (again)
•September 4, 2014 • Leave a CommentI never said
I was perfect
Or even normal
I only ever claimed
To find occasional
Comfort, joy
With who I am
For now
–a.r.
Photo from Black and WTF
Forgotten
•September 3, 2014 • Leave a CommentFeeling
There it is, go back
That cool breath of wind through the smallest of cracks
With the faint scent of then
Surfacing bumps and beads on the backs of our arms
Tickling the tiniest fears on the napes of our necks
Listen, can you hear them yet
Beckoned by echoes, “We are in here, come find us.”
The shuffling of proto-feet through lost fossils
The sharp and flinty click of rocks on long forgotten walls
Have you noticed, how
Cool sparks flicker off wet trickles, dripping
Smooth deposits that shine from crystalized time
Grey outlines of ghosts begin dancing again
Animals once aflame, but for now plugged in
And those caved in walls finally reveal
We are one and the same
In the art, in the feel, of our dreams
-a.r.
Photo still from Chauvet Cave, Cave of Forgotten Dreams
Darkening Days
•August 30, 2014 • 2 Comments
I look forward
There is a dark season on the horizon
Light mood, light humor, light slipping
Slowly below that line of land, looming
Barely noticeable except by feel alone
Shadows unseen while looking towards the sun
Were always there, but now begin a slow reach
Clothing will soon change from easy sheath
To layered shrouds of mourning, for cover
Of skin thinned raw from exposure
Awakening in me a guttural wantonness
Growing from a gritty grounded place
I will soon seek out meaty music
With heavy words and thicker chords
That carry earthy reverb, building
They will wreak a heady havoc
Turning the breezy haze of easy tune
Into dark and heavy magic
I grin crooked, with a welcome chill
— April Resnick
Dark Sunset, creator unknown
Watching & Waiting
•August 21, 2014 • 4 CommentsOh how quickly things spiral to madness
Till no longer ’bout goodness or badness
Minute misconceptions
Human imperfections
Projecting rightness instead of our sadness
Oh but slowly we could break this habit
Sitting silent without safety jackets
Other becomes you
Self begins slipping through
Possibility’s born from our stepping back a bit
-a.r.
The Blind Watchmaker by jetski66 on deviantART
This Summer
•August 15, 2014 • Leave a CommentI am enjoying unstacking the piles
That, while striving, had piled up for miles
Simple joys in this job
Yes, my brain’s become blob
So soon I’ll remember ambitious desires
-ar
Piles of French Novels by Vincent Van Gogh
no
•August 12, 2014 • Leave a Commentneeding another…illusion
wanting another…reality
so often i confuse the two
i alone determine what fixing i need
and what fixing i wish to do
ar
Untitled, House Series, Francesca Woodman
sometimesihatemycat 
