Full Stop by debgrant
In the midst of the full stop
that the trajectory of our lives
in these corona days,
Do I have any body
memory of anything
that feels like a full stop?
the days after the end of
The routine of office days,
The label of my profession
leaving a vacuum of questions
mostly a reborn woman child
asking Who am I?
Who am I now?
But these plague days feel more like
the time I was riding a friend's horse
alone through a pasture.
A gentle walk urged into
an easy lope,
urged into a gallop.
The ecstasy of wind created,
a powerful creature, warm
and thrumming percussion section
of human, horse, and earth.
And then the horse stopped.
I don't know why.
He just stopped.
I did not.
I experienced the trite but true metaphor
of head over heals.
It was an Olympic moment of movement
Speed and form.
And then I stuck the landing
or it stuck me.
Not a breath left in my lungs
to make a noise.
Shock, then pain,
then feeling the leather rein still wrapped in my fingers.
Then seeing the rock my back missed
when I landed.
The rock that would have cracked me dead or lame.
Today it isn't a story of being grateful to be alive
or even getting back on the horse that threw me
which I did perhaps because I love a metaphor.
Today it is a story about how difficult it is to stop
when it wasn't our choice to stop.
Learning how to stop may be
how we survive.
Deb Grant, resilient child of God, creative tinker of paper, ink, wood, shiny things, paint and words. The human amusement of a parrot and a dog.
Writer, poet, artist, human, citizen, learner, scruffy, goof.
Word Food by Deb is randomly published. More than weekly, less than daily at the following media sites: