He asked, how many days did God take
to make the world? Seven days, my son said.
So the ENT specialist said, everything takes
time, takes sacred rituals, or even
daily partakings in these things,
like putting on or taking off
your camo pants, so hold on
to those ripples of attention,
even those inexpressibly flattering
smiles, with cynicism.
I cannot exchange my breezy space now
with yours; am I changeable? Placing my trust
on what it’s meant to turn out to become;
meanwhile I’m clamoring to dance again,
even if I did feel standoffish, not
wanting to turn into some idiotic effect,
but once the moves became automatic
I’d wanted it all over again, and I’d memorized
all gray and insubstantial things in much
the same way, till time passes.
Prompt: This year’s Christmas feels different for me, maybe because of the change in rituals. I’ve not even put up a Christmas tree. But I love the season still. 2016 turned out to be kinda crappy. It’s disappointing on so many levels. Anyway it’s taught me to discern. No, did not have that gift and so had to learn the hard way. I’ve always mistaken rust for gold, is what I’m saying. But I’ve always measured things by a gold standard, and guess I always will. And one of the things I’ve learned is it’s ok to be on your own, to not look to others for validation. You are writing your own story. No one else’s opinion should matter. It’s between you and your God. So the prompt is to write a review in your poem, but it doesn’t have to be a long, hard review, just some wisdom you’ve gotten at the end of the year.