A Porous Weathercock

Wed, 08/12/2015 - 15:44 -- BBN

I pieced all the evidence together and found

that I, most likely, came from a ripped up piece of latex,

one snowy summer night in a cabin down in New Mexico.

Yet, though I came from broken things and with unexpected news,

I came also with love.

I mended a shaky unit, kept two parts of a whole together.

So, I guess you could say, I once was glue. 

 

One day, when my world was more sturdy,

I collected myself and stopped being glue.

Quickly searching for a new consistency, I turned into a parrot.

Finally, something living and breathing, 

and though it was very exciting back then, I have to say now 

that it all seems very dull in the long run.

I did not much more than mimick the larger beings around me,

though I did do a lot of playing with smaller creatures and hopping around.

 

When I grew tired of the grubs and feathers,

I stretched out to become one overgrown sea sponge.

With eyes even brighter than Bob's

I ate up all the words and images around me.

My favorite things to absorb

were generally about

what lies outside of our atmosphere

and beneath our oceans.

 

Being a sea sponge, believe it or not,

is lengthy work.

So, naturally, my shape remained porous and oblong 

for quite some years.

Even after I've morphed 

time and time again,

I can't seem to get rid of the ins and outs

of my mind, body and soul.

That's fine, though, because they come with benefits.

Now I can, not only take in and absorb,

but also create and share.

 

Since then I have taken more abstract,

less tactile, forms.

Like that of a friend, of a lover, of a daughter,

of a supporter, a follower, a leader, 

a mentor and a mentee.

I might be forgetting a few others, 

but I'll never forget,

that through all those years and shapes,

that I once turned into a skyscraper,

only to shrink into a pretty pair of shoes, 

a few months later.

 

Though I strongly doubt I'll ever turn back 

into those dainty, black pumps,

the slightest possibility

still haunts my dreams and drifting thoughts.

 

For quite some time now,

I've been content,

at times ecstatic,

with my shape and size.

But recently I've been reduced

to a weathercock.

Turning North, then South by Southwest

daily, even twice in the same hour at times.

 

My friends and family all say,

that this is the best shape,

that many open doors are waiting,

but I really am getting awfully dizzy.

See, it's not easy having no clear direction,

if all the freedom in the world

is simply not enough.

Some days I feel like the more of it I have,

the more I feel chained down. 

 

Some days, when I've been spinning around 

particularly fast,

I consider turning back into the parrot,

but we all know that's a silly thought,

and if I'd listen to my co-creators

more often than naught,

maybe I'd be off the roof by now,

flying somewhere new.

 

However,

a wise, old crow once told me

that we all take the shape of a weathercock,

some even take it more than once in life,

and we usually stay that way 

a little longer than we'd like.

The tired crow said to me, too,

that I'll change soon,

perhaps when I least expect it,

maybe before I am even ready.

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741