Evelyn Klebert

Maybe you shouldn’t say it
if you aren’t exactly sure.
Words travel like arrows
and if unkind seek out their targets directly.
Maybe you shouldn’t say it
if it’s not proper to say to their face.
If you can’t imagine them in front of you
and you speaking as clearly and with as much fortitude
as you would behind their back.
Maybe you shouldn’t say it
if you couldn’t imagine saying it to your own child.
Everyone is someone’s child
and a parent’s pain is a formidable thing.
Maybe you shouldn’t say it
if you don’t want it to label you,
because somewhere whispers become shouts
and they always travel into the light of day.
Maybe you shouldn’t say it
if you don’t want it clinging to you forever
because even if you change and think better of it
someone will always remember the hurt
and see you right next to it.

Dancing

We dance around each other,
spinning around the floor
in wild, inexplicable contortions.
Sometimes I’m sure I’ve taken the lead,
and he shadows my footsteps
by miles away.
And then for a bit my guard drops,
and temporarily I settle into complacency.
Until I turn around a rambling corner,
and there he stands,
waiting, biding his time
with a wide delicious grin.
Taking different forms, using different tools,
but always the same in essence,
waiting quite assured.
And why wouldn’t he be,
haven’t we traveled down this road before?
And I contemplate again,
take in his cool arrogance,
contemplate again
dancing that wild uncharted dance,
spinning out all my energies
until all that is left is a nervous shell.
I contemplate for a moment,
and then begin to wonder,
if this time I change the tune
and instead
I lie in wait,
round that unexpected turn,
and greet my fear with a warm embrace.

I wander through gardens,
through mazes in the shadows,
thorns prick at my skin
scraping and tearing.
I wander through places of overgrown tangles.
And see glimpses  and catch fragments of other lives
and other paths.
I wander through gardens
and only catch a brief semblance
of others lives, hopes,
and pains that wrap around like wild vines.
Of course I couldn’t hope to know and really understand
but in the passing of an instance
I feel its semblance,
and think I hear another heartbeat
as they wind round their own
path,
and footsteps wrap round their own
wild vines.

My truth whispers
while the crowd roars by; it quietly bends
and turns
yet remains strong in its essence.
My truth reminds me
of a beacon through the shadows
of the shining light
guiding me through the lost days.
Our truth reminds me of how
far we have traveled,
of how much we have overcome
against predictions and preoccupations.
Our strength is my truth,
our connection the chord
that binds me
yet is my armor.
You are my constant
while the rest fades away with a sinking sun,
you are my constant.

It’s hard to explain it
to someone who doesn’t know
who hasn’t walked a step in these particular shoes.
One moment you are the center of your life,
and in the next the universe shifts a bit
and someone else changes the gravity.
Someone who needs you completely,
for survival, for affection,
for all the essentials that make us human.
And then minute by minute they grow,
get stronger and more independent,
more separate,
someone who was literally
physically closer to you once
than anyone else could ever be.
But it is your greatest wish
and fiercest desire that they become strong enough
one day to go out and chase their own happiness.
It’s hard to explain it
to someone who doesn’t understand.
To give all that time and attention
so that another can forge their own life.
It’s hard to explain why
it’s the greatest joy to see it happen,
watching that child stretch its wings
and begin to carve its own place
in the world.

I caught sight of something today,
just a glimmer,
just a shimmer,
passing through light,
through reflection,
perhaps just memory –
the girl I used to be.
Her aura was electric,
electric with confusion,
vibrant with energy,
energy folding in upon itself.
Eyes flashing,
soul rebellious,
angry with sparks of determination,
weak with lack of direction.
I saw a  flash today,
a glimmer of what I used to be
a tornado of activity,
so sure, so lost.
Surely a turbulent time,
but thankfully one that is no more.

Love doesn’t arrive in a heart-shaped box,
with a bouquet of roses,
or a few flattering words.
Love builds with layers,
strength and support.
It shines during the most difficult times,
with one who puts your well-being before their own.
It’s concern for the other’s happiness
even if for awhile yours is put aside.
It gives and takes,
shares and gives,
and makes each within its circle better and stronger
than they would be on their own.
It’s never one-sided,
and never hurtful and thoughtless.
It’s the garden that is tended
and flowers in unexpected ways.
It deepens over time,
is a blessing that should never be taken for granted.
It weathers the storms,
and is not built on outward trappings,
but inner strength that whispers
we are better and stronger together,
than we could ever be apart.

Just when I think I understand,
have a grasp on the truth,
have traveled a long, rocky road
with shoes falling apart from wear.
Just when I think
my eyes can see clearly,
finally;
and I no longer anticipate
the unexpected,
no longer anticipate
a change of perspective.
Then you turn around,
and teach me something new.

I’m sure there is a turn I missed
a door I failed to open,
a whisper that never stopped my pace,
to pause and re-evaluate.
I’m sure there was a nuance,
a soft, gentle warning
that I failed to heed
that might have stalled my ascent.
My ascent to this peculiar precipice.
the one I face now,
peering downward
not too delicately
perched at its edge.
Perhaps I should have slowed my pace,
And then,
I should have stopped and listened,
but then again
I am here now,
in this dangerous place,
perhaps only caught by inevitability.
So now this time
I’ll stop,
and make my peace,
and make the very best
of whatever the moment brings.

I’ve gotten lost
in the cracks and fissures,
gotten lost in the scrambling about.
I’ve gotten lost
in the madness and the crush
in the whirl of how I thought things should be.
I’ve gotten lost in my long lists
and my efforts to create an image.
An image whose stress is so stripped of truth and peace.
I’ve gotten lost in trying to keep up
with all I have to do.
And I’ve let Christmas pass me by.
I’ve forgotten that’s it’s gentle and loving and about spreading happiness.
I’ve forgotten how to keep Christmas well.
but thankfully
I’ve remembered.