The Promise of Resilience

It had been 20+ years since I’d been to the house.

Not much had changed.

The exterior paint was a bit more faded and chipped.
The cracks in the sidewalk were deeper.

The drive had started out early, filled with stress and anxiety.
Before facing my family, I needed a moment.

I stepped out of the car and took a walk around the house.
I came around the front to go to the side.
My gaze fell on a sight that brought tears to my eyes.

Winter had laid the branches bare, leaving them thin, exposed.
The skeletal figure was both frail and strong.
It looked like the twigs could be snapped with ease,
But they could also sway and bend with the breeze.

The branches weren’t completely barren or bland.
On most of the ends grew a white and pink flower.
They stood in contrast to the brown sticks that made up the frame.
They spoke of hope and the ability to overcome.

I saw myself in that bush.
How the past year and a half had broken me down, made me a shell of my former self,
Left me exposed, vulnerable, a thin frame of what I had been before.

Despite the exposure and attempt to weaken, there was still strength.
The ability to bend in the wind and weather the toughest of storms.

Life had stripped me down, cut me to the core.
But with the devastation, there is the beauty of growth.

The promise of resilience.

Dabbling in Poetry

For the month of February, I have the honor and privilege of co-teaching a writing workshop with another adjunct through the Central Community College community outreach program.

The first 2 weeks focused on poetry (taught by Scott), and the next 2 weeks will be fiction and nonfiction (taught by me).

Poetry isn’t really my thing, but since the other instructor asked the participants to write some for class, I thought I would give it a try. I would like to share my poems with you.

For this first poem, we were tasked with using specific words in the poem. The words were: cows, tricycle, table, thimble, and drum. Here’s my poem.

Visions of Me

Let the world view me as it may.

Let it see me as a cow,
bloated,
mindless,
concerned with only feeding my desires.

Let it see me as a beaver,
industrious,
busy,
constructing walls to contain and protect myself.

Or let it see me as a circus bear,
dressed in bright colors,
riding a tricycle,
doing what I can to entertain.

I will take the world’s views of me and store them in a thimble,
left on a table in a back room,
taking them out to read when I lose my vision of myself.

Until then,
let me view myself as I may and continue moving forward,
marching to the beat of my own drum.


This next poem is a sensory poem.

A New Space

I stood at the window,
Looking out,
Waiting for the world to feel familiar.

The blues, greens, oranges, and yellows that normally colored the world had faded to various grays and white.

The scents of wildflowers and freshly mowed grass was replaced with the tang of a campfire long since extinguished.

The sun that used to warm my shoulders was covered by clouds.

The breeze that moved heat across the land was now a chill that formed goosebumps on exposed flesh.

There was a sameness to the shape of the land,
How the parts put themselves together,
But there was a difference in the feel.

The world seemed less inviting,
Blanketed with coldness and cruelty.

It appeared sad and lonely,
Hurtful and scary,
Rather than enlightened and safe.

I stood at the window,
Looking out,
Waiting for the world to feel familiar.