Learning To Walk

I watch you take two steps forward,

Always followed by one back

As I grow too near the place

You're afraid to let anyone touch.

You are too generous a giver,

So you keep it well-hidden

Until you're yanked back like a yo-yo

By your object of desire,

Stubbornly impervious to the truth-

That there will be no phoenix rising from the ashes.

I'll pick you up and brush you off,

Taking care to seal up any red trickles,

Until you stumble upon a truth carefully placed in front of you,

Believing all the while that it was an accident,

Like when you speak to the stars

And the sea answers you instead.

You are so fragile in your youth

(Much younger than your years)

And what you see as truth is merely what you tell yourself

To temper disappointment after disappointment.

You go and hide yourself underneath the flowers,

To be revealed only by the gloved hands of a loving gardener,

Plucking gingerly, taking care not to disturb the roots.

Delicately cultivating, ridding your garden

Of unconscious delusions and diluted effects,

I am careful not to let you notice,

Knowing how tightly you would cling to these comfortable barriers.

Sometimes, I cry and cry, forcing the tears,

In hopes that they will spill over

Until they drown your loneliness and longing.

©1997 Gail Von Schlichting

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