Sliding into newness,
my knees buckle just a little,
heart’s eye seeking out the nearest saint.
The ground has that liquid feel,
like it’s been raining for weeks,
and everything’s forgotten
how to be dry and solid.
There’s a tiny tornado
just behind my eyes.
My mind knows I’m on the path,
hips still in committee.
Tried to fill the void
with empty calories.
Now my pouchy, slouchy belly hurts—
a snarl of dietary turpitude,
shame salted in sugar.
Indecision is a soggy trail blanket.
Light from the stars
doesn’t reach the ground.
The path ahead is a tangled thicket.
Unmoored.
Heaving in the harbor.
But, ear to the ground,
the inevitable train.
Painfully slow,
but right on time.
And I will board uncertainly
and take me out in front of me.
There is no stopping
the rolling tide.