The world is dressed in costume, the children walking house to house….She has been watching the world go by, in her room. Pneumonia got her in it’s throes, all month long, worsening as the month is nearly gone. Flowers and candies, music, her melodies on her mind…They keep her company, as the clock ticks right on by. Her melodies they live and thrive, humming them she hears, they’ve reached a level she loves and adores. Now she longs to hear her music on a C.D., just so that she can hear it streaming through the air.
Rocking to and fro, swimming in the abyss, fever, cold, aches, barely able to walk, and pain everywhere….A flu that never ends, ceaseless in it’s tirade, with a heavy dose of feeling bad, more then a normal flu does…Day in and day out this pain, yet she looks upon loveliness. Things that she has only dreamed, have now become reality. One dream down, many more to go. She begins to contemplate about the other dreams in her mind. Some are little. Some are not so small. But now she knows, they can be had; for one of them came true. And so it’s time now to believe, and to set down the steps in reaching these. Watching the flowers grow in amongst the stepping stones…Her mothers’ eyes all aglow, her skin getting clearer and brighter, more young still, stripping away the years, as the smiles now cross her soul.
Unpacking and unpacking, where does this go, and where does that? Rummaging and finding things in boxes put away years ago….The bed welcomes her in it’s arms, a downey soft. It knows she’s ill. It warms her and is thrilled, to be used, to be needed, to be recognized for it’s comfort which it gives.
The crowded rooms, lines of friends coming to and fro, one box after another, have gone their way. Now it is time to imagine, time to spin, time to just be.
Copyright Kat Lyons
Picture Reblogged: girlinlondon
Rushing into the tiny trailor, surrrounded by familiar bodies, many of which who had never, I say never, stepped foot inside the doorway of her home, were moving at such a high speed, and all asking, demanding instructions, as to what to do, what to pack, where to go, where to be, and how to do this impossible task set before us. Turning from one to the other, their voices blurred, her head began to spin, her heart rate was suddenly too high. Fear gripped her mind and threw her in a tail spin. They were touching her things. They all expected, no needed her to tell them what to do. If only there were one or two, or even three, maybe three, she could do this. She could direct them as a manager, as a leader, an instructor. But no, there were too many. And she had saved her private things for last, to keep them from prying eyes or stealy fingers of the girl whose feet were paid to be behind closed doors of her new home, against her will. For the timing of it all was to her dissatisfaction. Delicate glass was thrown around as if it would not break. One turned up her nose in disgust to her heart of hearts, her very own family! Her things, they were touching, touching, she wanted them to belong, to be organized, to go, to move, in a certain fashion. Everything had to be done just right. It must be labeled. It must be moved and placed in a certain place, each one. They could not see why. Why?! And so she sent them home. Then she did the packing, and the moving, one car load at a time, all night long, into the dark of night, until she could not move her body anymore.
Then there was the next day, and the day after that, and the day which came last, but not least, after that. The neighbors, they were the saviors. For they understood her delicacies. They understood her mind frame. There was a fight, a war with words, heated emotions. But after so many years of getting to know each other, through the thin walls, even this did not deter. No, for they found ways, to apologize for the small things, the words which were thrown in amongst all the rest, among the ones that really did matter. So that the largeness of those big words seemed smaller with all of the small words undressed.
And the sunlight shone so bright. The garbage piled high in the yard, days later. She moved like lightening speed, that night, in the dark. Seeing only by the neighbors light. Picking one thing out of the shed after another, fighting off the fear of spiders unseen. Moving quickly, for time was of the essence to save any treasure stored for years upon years among the heaps of garbage and things which no longer fit, memories strewn about, and confusing debree piled high by the middle of the tree.
Found, a treasure, only to her eyes. Yet many more, books, kept by her mother, had been stored there. Saved, because she insisted.
In a heartbeat, decide, keep, throw away, give away, or for her mother to decide.
The next day she said yes to the man who she had been avoiding, to help which he offered. Fighting off his advances, they together found places to stock pile her things in the moving truck. Without him, these things would have been lost. He kept trying to kiss her. She evaded. Once she thought she might have to hit him. But he backed off.
After it was all over, done and said with, two weeks later, she looked at a small patch of grass outside. Ownership, buying to own, holds so much more meaning then to rent.
Through the curtainless windows, the moon says hello.
Copyright Kat Lyons
I had to leave the blog world for a minute. I’m sorry to have left you hanging. I didn’t know what to say. One sentence wouldn’t cut it with the way that my blog is set up. Moving took precedence. It was a huge, let me repeat, humongous undertaking. Never have I ever been involved in any move this daunting, strenuous, or near impossible of a feat to pull off. It was treacherous. It was exciting. It was stressful, to say the least.
At one particular moment, I was shaking, convulsing in full body waves from the inside out. It was very scary, in moments, large moments, that seemed to last a lifetime. This was not any ordinary move. For the space that I had been living in before, was so tiny, that two people could not pass each other. Boxes were piled high everywhere, as a means for living. Because there simply was no space, no closet, no place to eat, no place to sit for more then one person, no bedroom for me with a door, and no place to put my things, but piled high up against the wall.
I wasn’t the only one. Mom had lived there for twenty five years, much longer then me, since I had moved back in some time ago. She didn’t have enough room for her things, let alone room for me. So her possessions were stacked up in boxes as well.
Now in the new home, there is space, space for everything. There is a room for me, with a closet. It is super tiny, but it has a place to hang my clothes. The bedroom is huge. There is a dining room, two bathrooms, a yard with a fence, a garage, and a living room that can be used for one, rather then a place for me to sleep.
The garbage which attempted to masquerade as furniture has been thrown out, with new furniture that is meant to be furniture, beautiful in it’s splendor and magificent esthetic appeal, in it’s place. I can now ooh and ahh at not only having enough, but also that it is nice on the eyes. I feel like I’m in wonderland. It’s so beautiful.
I’m back. Now I am living in a real home, that is meant to be one at that, with room to grow. No longer having to live with floors that are falling in, a roof falling in, nor black mold….I no longer have to hear the neighbors every single move, breath, word or deed. Now I can have privacy. Now my health is not threatened by the very place in which I must live. It will regulate the temperature too, and doesn’t have to feel like I’m outside camping in the open weather anymore. No, now my house has it’s bases covered, and may actually encourage me to become healthy some day. There is room for creativeness, and for sleep. I even have the sink modified for my handicap. That means less pain on my feet. Maybe they won’t swell as much. There is also a place where I can build a garden or two. And there are two fruit trees which need attending to.
Strange to think that I may be here for the rest of my life. But that’s a good thing too.
Picture Reblogged: inspiremydreams Prose: (C) Kat Lyons