It’s hard to say how I feel these days. Hell, it’s hard to say anything really. I’m so far from everything, I’m so deep into outerspace, I’m so off the beaten path, I’m so beyond the fenceline.
It’s hard to say how the master plan got forgotten in the back pocket of a pair of jean, didn’t weather the permanent press setting of the front load washer we call this crazy thing called life and left me here, out here to wander with no water to speak of that must be why it’s so hard to say.
That must be why I keep forgetting the date, not refilling the pitcher, taking turns round a neighborhood only school children walk. Not in a sundress and flip flops. These sidewalks are reserved for eight year old with backpacks or housewife workout warriors, not lazy lost lumbering lifers like me.
Or it could be that it’s just hard to say I’m sad. Nothing that earth shattering. I’m just sad.
And I’m tired. Sad and tired on a Saturday. Not tectonic plate shifting, just human frailty separating out and rising to the top of soul substance we all have from time to time.
Aging dads, disappearing moms, missing the mark, moving completely, so broke I can taste it, and the face in the mirror can’t think who to call.
Deep into outerspace, out beyond the fenceline, far past the breakers, currents and airstreams and treelines do as they will. They don’t ask for our input, they don’t owe us a rest stop, we got here ourselves so the choice is ours alone.
This is foreign land, this is wild country, this is no place for old ways. This is bigger than I am, this is not asking my opinion, this is hard to say and that’s that.
We got past the breakers, we got the possessions boxed and delivered, we got the boy in Nebraska and the two back at home. We got the girl back to her family, we had barely a moment, then everything shifted and I’m gone for who knows how long? Gone is a place name, Gone is a status, Gone is who I keep handing the keys. Like Gone knows the answer or Gone’s gonna love me, or Gone’s better than landing somewhere else, somewhere cool.
It’s hard to say why I do this. It’s hard to say why I keep clinging
to what’s hard to say, hard to feel when Love’s so close it could touch me, it could hold me, it could love me if it weren’t so damn hard to say.