TO SOAR
by Mary Deal

I wish I were a bird, a powerful eagle, maybe a white dove, or I’d settle for being a goose because a gaggle of geese are a cohesive lot that support one another as they fly in V formation with each taking a turn in the lead to cut a trough through the air as the others ride in the wake which enables them to rest and ultimately fly farther, like we could have, so that we could attain potentials never reached before in this little world of endless sorrow and woe that I am locked into and keeps me wishing to soar, as you in your world seem to have it all and go about your days smiling in secrecy and leave me alone to hold together the fraying bits of our lives without so much as gratitude because we simply do not speak; you for fear that you might make a slip of the tongue about where you’ve been and me because I’ve remained a caged, frail prisoner of conscience far too long, but now I plan to soar because I followed your car, with me the free bird driving mine, until I saw where you lay low yet could not reason why; while I remained at a distance imagining you experiencing stolen moments of ecstasy that do not include me because you and I have lost the desire to feather the same nest except when you drop your dirty social laundry on me and expect me to protect your public image once more which makes me again wish to be any unencumbered bird, and all too often I do escape to soar above the rooftops and trees and into the clouds to feel the wind and rain cleansing me of your indiscretions and restoring the life that is mine which is freer than yours in your clandestine little world because it is exactly that, little, as I being in denial flying in my car follow you night after night as if I have to feel the pain again and again to make me stop my escapism and to free myself from the confines you have built to keep me grounded so I can truly be that graceful bird soaring up and away from the state of confusion that you have brought upon us because out there where I am free I have found new strength through the grace of imagined autonomy that gives me courage to hover again and again near that house where I watch the shadows on the blinds and see the lights go out and later come back on dimly just before you leave to return home as if you owned the world in which I also live and where my imaginary flights have strengthened me as I plan to soar and, no matter that I am awkward like a goose, all you will be left with after this free bird swoops down is the mess that I’m about to drop on you.

© Mary Deal 2004

Mary Deal lives on the island of Kauai in Hawaii and has learned how to log story ideas into notebooks that get wet at the beach. She has one novel published and is finishing her sixth.

(marydeal00@hotmail.com)

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