Wednesday, May 31, 2006

On the Park Bench (part 1)

Heart pounding, watching tug boats float by. Sitting straight up feeling my life flow into the gulf driven by the current of this muddy river as I press my back up against the wooden bench to stop it. Holding onto me has been as good as cupping water in my hands. My hands are small, the strength between my fingers weak. I have long hair today that graze my shoulder blades. God bless America and the weave shop on Monroe. No press and curl could press out the ever present lump in my throat as I decided to face this. As I sat on this park bench and decided to face me, to tell myself the truth .
"The wood boards that constuct this bench are the only ones spacey, boo. It's you too and that isn't at all in your blueprint." I have sat on the the metaphorical bench content with the rationale of destiny, of needing a break, of being held down, never being called up...sitting on this park bench with my legs swinging. It was depression, the oppression of others, the minimal strength between my fingers that force me into this section of living, of existance. That's why I couldn't hold on tight enough. I feel everything moving but I am being carried, carried by the current into the Gulf.

I eyeball one man walking by in basketball shorts stroking the wooden bench with space left for one. I often wondered why many would pass along though no one would sit. If there was one tired enough to sit next to me, it wasn't for long. I continued to stroke this bench longingly, still telling myself that I was waiting for the right person to sit next to me. I have sat with my legs swinging, my skin sinking into the crevices of the wooden bench watching many a boat pass along the Mississippi. The river carrying cargo, fish, drunken gamblers, tears, memories of the faces that briefly sat to the right of me and a little part of my pride into the Gulf.

Taking a breath, I for the first time in a long while kicked my legs up and laid my sun-glazed caramel body across the park bench. I was exhausted from waiting, from holding on with small hands and weak finger strength to bodies only meant to warm my bench briefly. I have become self-indulgent. It's so much easier now to do my toenails.
On the Park Bench (part 1)SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend


  1. Thanks for your visit. It's always nice to meet new people in the blogosphere! You have a really "flowy" way of writing that reads almost like jazz lyrics. I enjoyed it.

    As for the moment of weakness, you will be okay. You're a smart cookie and the right thing is always hard and scary in the beginning.

  2. how are you gonna give my seat away! i was gone for a minute to get ice cream! ;)

  3. This was nice to read and I like the pic, it mesh well with your journey to the park.

  4. I like it! It's fresh.


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