I am not wise beyond my years. No matter how many times you tell me.
If I stand in front of the pond what do I see?
Do I see myself walking to my reflection asking for the future
or am I Narcissus, never growing out of who I see?
As seasons change, as winter grows cross, as spring has less of a hold on me,
I fade. Hands shiver, reddening by the grip on the wheel.
My only solace is the moon, who has somehow spellbindingly allowed me
to converse with her and her crescent glow. More often than usual
with a caress, softer than the blows
of the threatening February wind.
She is still and soundless, as she offers comfort when I am staring, alone,
and it tempts me to ask
if I had been carving a hollowness out of myself
like its crescent.
A shell of a man, as they’d say.
But the moon only sits in idleness to listen.
Who was she to answer? Or me to ask at all?
So this pond that presents itself, it could show my old self if willing.
an original caricature.
Or polarities morphing into each other,
fighting for a chance to decide who I am.
Which grabs me and pulls me into the murkiness and announces
how the world will perceive who I am
based on nothing they are given?
What weight does this identity hold when identity itself is far from simple?
Is there a sense of pride that accompanies such questions?
And as I peer over the ledge of the railing
I ask how deep the water is below me.
Would surface level suffice in what I do, see, or say?
Am I asking for empty wishes, like a useless coin toss?
Algae growing over rocks thickening,
A flock of geese floating by and cocking their heads as I ponder, asking me
if I realize how much time I am letting sink away.
A single turtle bobs his head from below and rests it on a rock,
basking in the setting sun before saying goodbye and disappearing.
And I spot a shovel floating peculiarly on its own,
the handle sticking out.
What should I be digging out of myself
What do I become?
What am I hiding inside myself that I can’t see anymore
and will I see it again in the future? Or will it surrender in the depths,
and dig in a misleading direction?
Foresight would have helped me prepare this out sooner, and yet here we are.
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