The past 4 weeks and another 6 to 8 weeks of a non-weight bearing left ankle, I find myself obsessively consumed in finding balance. Here is a poem about exactly that.
FINDING BALANCE
My daughter calls it a stripper pole,
a floor to ceiling invitation
for exotic, gymnastic moves
designed to raise the libido
of the observer … or, in my case,
that upon which to grasp,
holding and assisting me in
raising my body from the bed
to the walker staring at me,
double dog daring me to stand,
presently far more important
than my libido, which has long
been in the depths of a Rip Van Winkle slumber.
My present pursuits seek not
those earth-shaking epiphanies
of eschatological mystery.
My pursuits are more isolated
to the mundane, the more parochial,
a Question of movement …
reaching in safety,
my chair, commode, bed,
those long sought after Quixote quests
spiritual, and psychological balance
set aside for a while.
I find myself desperately grasping
for balance, as central to life
as a drawn breath, a dance
filled with complex steps,
fragile and perilous,
suspended over uncertainty
with no visible net underneath.
It is that moment, when
the pole is released, the quick
reach for the walker, hoping
that an open, grasping hand
will make the journey with surety
to the walker, awaiting a new day.
(c) 2019, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
