Different Springs: The World Is a Maze. {poetry}
{source}
I waited for you through mid-August heat
sun beating in hands
cupped like sea pouring over the shoreline
hands shake away
now they are mine again
but you are nowhere yet.
Watching fogged streetlights flicker to life in December
It is snowing somewhere
and I’ve never written about streetlights before
because I’m afraid they are too often used in poetry —
although I can’t remember actually reading a poem with one in it
Why wouldn’t they be too often used?
Majestic of all muses
It’s not snowing in my snow globe world
the air is barely damp
it follows softly like dazed ambient
We agreed to meet here under the streetlight that cannot be spoken of —
but resembles a medallion of warm candlelight hanging over my head
I want to clasp it around my neck and walk around the wet streets with it
choking me like cold reason
My steel vice
utterly charming
and you have not arrived yet.
June is cruel in its own way
its always been so blasé
the pain of nothing won’t go away.
It is summer once more
the brown vines
the sore fruit
casualties of time
sundried like our promises
they will turn into the earth
leaving their plans
Our roots become the night sky —
cryptic strings we dare not offend
but don’t understand
binding us to possibilities we cannot see
Pinned within eternal midnight
you hang there trying to bridge the gap between
rationality and the scattered hopes on the floor of your dreams
and things make sense temporarily
even if they were never supposed to.
October is a fire burning out of control
scorching everything unapologetically —
with a smile on its face
a catapult being pulled back
hurling us to our pinnacle
teaching us in slow motion as we fall
that some things are better when there’s no
apparent choice involved
but when it means too much to show
it means anything at all
the false equanimity
creates a withdrawal
Now our eyes reveal nothing — almost
they fade in and out with lucid focus
like embers of a dying fire
accepting that their time has come.
The world is a maze
there are only intersections when necessary
and the entrances once entered vanish
Once you look back the settings will shift
to appear as though nothing has changed
The same door will lead to a myriad
places depending on who opens it
To come to terms with the notion that there is not one singular dimension,
but an array of facets moving through an endless field
The sorrow sets in
just as realization dawns
with the rising sun:
neither of us wanted to admit that
we were in different springs.
{Photo credit: Joyce Su}
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Sarah Elkhaldy is a writer, spoken word poet, and energy healer trained in shamanic and holistic healing modalities that address soul loss, trauma, supporting the body in detoxification of chronic stressors and regeneration. She is the administrator of The Alchemist, where she shares esoteric knowledge to help humanity gracefully tap into our evolutionary potential. Sarah hosts retreats and workshops in Los Angeles on alchemy and shadow work. She is the author of How to Set Yourself on Fire, her debut poetry book that acts as a hand-guide to the oldest past time known to our kind: existing. You could contact Sarah via her website.
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