Today, as planned, two friends and I have met once again on a date wedged into our disparate lives. We have come to share in diffidence or in-public-hushed joy the small triumphs, honors, discoveries and pleasures that have punctuated the time since we last saw one another. Torn scraps of personal despair, as well, may be laid upon the table seeking receipt into the hoped for loving and forgiving air of this semi-private booth meant for dining. The art of conversation—that intelligence that watches the world and finds pattern, theory or theme—this, too, fills the space we have carved from our lives to be here today.
While my friends speak of their days and argue the mathematics of their thoughts, I slip out and climb up onto the bench seat where I have been sitting apart. I slide into the corner of this restaurant booth until I am held flat against the wall as if by centrifugal force.
Below me the faces of my friends reveal alternating emotions: shock, fear, pain, the discomfort of association with this occurrence. They are for the moment speechless and paralyzed. Beyond the booth’s high top, I see that a few diners have caught sight of me. Their companions turn to view the oddity I have thrust into their lives.
My friends, finding their voices, question me and beg me to sit down. I tell them I am really quite all right.
“I merely need to stand like this for a moment or so, and then I will return to my seat. Everything will then be just as it was before. I only need this one moment.” I ask them to be patient and to forgive if not understand.
They, of course, are not content with my answer. Nor is the management. Our server has appeared inquiring as to the problem. Soon we will be asked to leave. Perhaps a call to the police may be suggested as inducement to pry me down from my perch.
I assure one and all that I am not dangerous, merely exhausted by too much of normal life, of walking in shoes designed for a multitude, but not for me. Too long have I allowed myself to be forced like the lab rat into patterns not of my own choosing.
“I just need a moment,” I tell them, “which is not like every other. That’s all. Just this one moment. Do not worry,” I reassure them. “I’m almost ready to sit down again. Just a little while longer and all this excitement will be over, and no, I do not intend to ever do this again. Once is quite enough.” Once is quite enough,” I say again.
But, of course, none of this has occurred.
I have not left my seat at all. Only a small part of my mind has escaped to a waking dream. Too much stress, I tell myself, as I explain away the illusion I have conjured. Other people find themselves caught in such moments only in their dreams while asleep. I, too, sometimes receive such messages in my sleep, though not often.
Some would say that I should rein in my thoughts; but unrealized and unspoken, they trouble no one and comfort me. I have found that these small imaginings in themselves provide release. So, I allow them to spill into my day, teaching me to understand the danger in my life. Their warning is preventive. For I never ignore the lesson they would teach but take immediate action to modify my life till all danger has passed.
So today my friends will hear me speak a little about my frustrations, of the stress that has filled the days since last we met. They will offer in response the concern of friendship and the warmth of their support. We will eat our fill of food, thought and friendship for this one day, and make our plans to meet again. Never will they know that for one moment I rose to slam myself against the high corner wall of this booth in which we sit.
#Friendship #UnspokenWords #StressRelief
Splinters for November 2020
Splinters for November 2020
A Visit with Friends
Today, as planned, two friends and I have met once again on a date wedged into our disparate lives. We have come to share in diffidence or in-public-hushed joy the small triumphs, honors, discoveries and pleasures that have punctuated the time since we last saw one another. Torn scraps of personal despair, as well, may be laid upon the table seeking receipt into the hoped for loving and forgiving air of this semi-private booth meant for dining. The art of conversation—that intelligence that watches the world and finds pattern, theory or theme—this, too, fills the space we have carved from our lives to be here today.
While my friends speak of their days and argue the mathematics of their thoughts, I slip out and climb up onto the bench seat where I have been sitting apart. I slide into the corner of this restaurant booth until I am held flat against the wall as if by centrifugal force.
Below me the faces of my friends reveal alternating emotions: shock, fear, pain, the discomfort of association with this occurrence. They are for the moment speechless and paralyzed. Beyond the booth’s high top, I see that a few diners have caught sight of me. Their companions turn to view the oddity I have thrust into their lives.
My friends, finding their voices, question me and beg me to sit down. I tell them I am really quite all right.
“I merely need to stand like this for a moment or so, and then I will return to my seat. Everything will then be just as it was before. I only need this one moment.” I ask them to be patient and to forgive if not understand.
They, of course, are not content with my answer. Nor is the management. Our server has appeared inquiring as to the problem. Soon we will be asked to leave. Perhaps a call to the police may be suggested as inducement to pry me down from my perch.
I assure one and all that I am not dangerous, merely exhausted by too much of normal life, of walking in shoes designed for a multitude, but not for me. Too long have I allowed myself to be forced like the lab rat into patterns not of my own choosing.
“I just need a moment,” I tell them, “which is not like every other. That’s all. Just this one moment. Do not worry,” I reassure them. “I’m almost ready to sit down again. Just a little while longer and all this excitement will be over, and no, I do not intend to ever do this again. Once is quite enough.” Once is quite enough,” I say again.
But, of course, none of this has occurred.
I have not left my seat at all. Only a small part of my mind has escaped to a waking dream. Too much stress, I tell myself, as I explain away the illusion I have conjured. Other people find themselves caught in such moments only in their dreams while asleep. I, too, sometimes receive such messages in my sleep, though not often.
Some would say that I should rein in my thoughts; but unrealized and unspoken, they trouble no one and comfort me. I have found that these small imaginings in themselves provide release. So, I allow them to spill into my day, teaching me to understand the danger in my life. Their warning is preventive. For I never ignore the lesson they would teach but take immediate action to modify my life till all danger has passed.
So today my friends will hear me speak a little about my frustrations, of the stress that has filled the days since last we met. They will offer in response the concern of friendship and the warmth of their support. We will eat our fill of food, thought and friendship for this one day, and make our plans to meet again. Never will they know that for one moment I rose to slam myself against the high corner wall of this booth in which we sit.
#Friendship #UnspokenWords #StressRelief
MANY THANKS, Cinquain for a Friend
To one
In whom sweet grace
Has found a place to grow
And flower as she lives, and loves
And gives.
#CinquainPoetry #PoetryandThanks #Friendship
FAVORITE WORDS
Many years ago, the film “The Glass Slipper”, a retelling of the Cinderella story, had an odd fairy godmother who liked to recite her favorite words. One of these was “windowsill” just because she liked the way it sounded. She also had some words she did not like at all. After seeing this film, my mother and I played around with this idea.
As a goofy word, I nominated ‘ilk’. It sounds like you meant to say something else, but choked before you could get it out. It also looks like it is missing a letter or more. If you don’t recognize this word, you probably do not work many crossword puzzles. It is related to the word “like” and means the same thing as type, sort or kind, as in a group of something. At least, that’s its meaning in English. Just for fun, check out the meaning in Azerbaijani.
The word irk is a close second since its sound does not suggest a word, only a noise like a bark. Meaning to irritate, the word maybe self-fulfilling. But I don’t care. I still enjoy it for its individuality.
In the category of ugly words, both my mom and I agreed the winner had to be bladder. There is very little redeeming about this word, not its meaning or its sound, though its appearance on the page might get a pass. But only if you are kind.
Maybe it’s not pretty to anyone else, but whippoorwill is at least fun to say. The fact that the sound this bird makes gave it its name just makes this word more endearing to me like a song refrain, or the haunting melody of a distant bird calling in the night.
Now that I’ve opened this subject, I challenge you to select words that are special for you. Make it a game, maybe, the way my mom and I did. We got a lot of laughs as we argued in favor of the words we selected. Hope you do, too.
#TheGlassSlipperMovie #FavoriteWords #EnglishLanguage
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“MANY THANKS” was written for a good friend of the poet.
KALEIDOSCOPE—a series by Kathleen Roxby
“FAVORITE WORDS” by Kathleen Roxby was inspired by a word game in the 1955 movie, “The Glass Slipper.” Sources consulted: www.etymonline.com and www.merriam-webster.com.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the writing of Kathleen Roxby
“A VISIT WITH FRIENDS”. This selection is part of a series the author calls “Small Imaginings”. It is her opinion that such musings of the imagination can relieve stress, boredom and may add humor and even joy to a life.
.
SUBMISSION GUIDELINES
Readers who write in response to one of the prompts listed each month in Splintered Glass, may see their work presented here on the last week of that month. Though poems are preferred, short prose work will also be considered for publication.
Guidelines for submission:
The Smoldering Flame
Heated by the twin fires
Of yellow and red,
Orange is never cold.
In the lingering fever
Of summer,
Or the last glimmering ember
Of a falling star.
#AutumnPoetry #AutumnColor
HALLOWEEN CHASE
All through the town trooped legions
Of goblins, witches, imps and angels
Playing tricks and looking for mischief.
All Hallows’ Eve was here to celebrate!
Two children just couldn’t resist the impulse
To overturn one man’s trash can
As he was one who hated Halloween tricks.
As the can rolled down the backyard steps,
The chase began downhill from the house,
Over fences, across yards, street and alleys,
Through more and more yards and fences.
The chase sped up as the boys hurried on,
Fearing that man who seemed ever so close.
Upon reaching a small stockyard, the boys,
Small enough to squeeze through the corral,
Hurried across and out the other side.
The man, too large for squeezing through,
Could only fume as he heard the boys’ loud laughter
And small giggles as they went merrily on their way,
Happy as larks at having such fun.
#Halloween #HalloweenMischief #HalloweenMemory
JACK O’LANTERN NIGHT
Sometimes still on a moon-gold night
The old dreams wake in the wild-witch light
And lantern-starred, their beaming spy,
Comes riding down the scheming sky
To search me out and knock and knock,
To try again love’s perfect lock;
But only a ghost, a shadow-regret
Slips by that guard to claim me yet.
#HalloweenPoetry #Halloween #Jack-O-Lantern #LovePoetry