Poem I

Kathryn Tierney Moreadith

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Push comes to shove, this story of

How she has been astounded

Forced to the brink of how she thinks

And how her dreams abounded.

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Take notice now the rule of how

Rhythms must keep changing

She learned this from music’s own drum

Heard its own arranging.

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She’d seen a lot in worlds that fought

The very thought of sight

She’d heard a few sounds that were new

As she prepared for flight.

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And so aware she was of ‘there’

An idea, a fear.

Each place she’ll go, hope that she’ll know

How to value the ‘here.’

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Doubtful is it if she’d the wit

Ever to play this game.

And life, for sure, has done to her

What school could never tame.

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Beginning small, a whisper’s call

Pain spoke to her at night

Which soon had grown more than she’d known

How to attempt to fight.

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When down she fell under the spell

Of loneliness inset

To mother’s keen advice, she’s seen

She will remain in debt.

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She’d stand again and think of when

Mom said to her in need

“You’re doing it, don’t you forget.”

Little engine, indeed.

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With each small struggle won, she’d shrug

“I’m tougher than I thought.”

But frailties too, no fewer few

Made she the thing she sought.

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“How’s that?” they’d ask, “a simple task:

Not hard to just be you.”

Misled you are, though not so far

From where she started, too.

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For how’d she know just where to go

When she lost track of she?

But soon she’d see that was only

The momentarily.

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When for a while her sunshine smile

Feigned that all was okay

As sadly she kept asking why

The end was not that day,

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It is all right, she’d say with might

The best we can, we do.

And when you live with much to give

Things will be taken, too.

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So long pain stayed as a parade

Tried to tear down her wits.

But though “You’re weak!” others did speak

She’d never call it quits.

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She’d have to laugh at her own gaffe

Of trying to previse

Just when she would know when she should…

Such notions can be lies.

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Answers were left the prize of theft

Questioned to no avail.

Or was that act the very tact

Allowing for this tale?

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Now, looking back, though there’s a lack

Of clear and manifest,

She did not miss the point of this

In ways, she’s found her best.

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When what she earned from what she learned

Was oddly unforeseen

She really saw that life would draw

Hands that could sweep her clean.

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But only in the event when

You let its grasp conceal

What you have built, favoring guilt,

Will life venture to steal.

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When what was taught and what she thought

She felt as different things

She realized what she’s most prized

Are all these ponderings.

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What brings her to that which is true

Without far lands to roam?

When in her ears new songs she hears

That’s how she’ll know she’s home.

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