Spinning Along

I broke my ankle.   No!  I can’t have a broken ankle.   Go back together you bones!  I have things to do, scores of things and I need to be efficient to get them done.  

 

You see I have to keep the world rolling, round and round on its axis–or at least my world.    I have to keep the business running and money coming in so that I can keep the debts at bay.  There’s the business loans and the house at the beach, the empty house at the beach, that no one wants, especially us.   Then there’s the insurance payments, in case one of us dies, we can pay off the debts.    The debts, they bark quietly each month for their payments,  softly at first and you better not miss one because they will start to bark loudly and gain weight, adding interest and fees–for spite.

 

And then there’s my bedsheets.   My sheets need changing.   They needed changing before I broke my ankle.    And my clothes are piling up on the chair in the bedroom.    I hang up my clothes.   Why are they piling up over there?   And the room is dusty and the bathroom, oh my–I’m embarrassed.   It was just a little dusty around the edges before I broke my ankle.  Now,  it all looks pretty scummy.      

 

I leave a trail of dishes and cups on the counters and tables.   It’s a lot of effort to pick up after myself.   I never knew how much mess I created now that I can’t pick things up so efficiently and wisp them away,  into the dishwasher.    

 

Just turning around in the kitchen to get a cup out of the cabinet is an effort–scoot, scoot, scoot, hop–open the cabinet, get the cup,  close the cabinet and repeat–in reverse.   Before, oh before,  it was blissfully smooth–pivot, reach, open, grab, close, pivot–seconds.

 

Shifting, yes that’s it.  The world, my world is shifting.   I lie to myself that I’m controlling things, running things.  I’m not, really.    The world is spinning all on it’s own.   I’m in the spin,  rolled my ankle in the process–pop goes the weasel.   It will all work out, this way or that.   No need to worry–spin away.

 

© Glenda Kotchish

April 1, 2017

 

Virginia March

March in Virginia has a cool warmth to the air.

I remember a morning like this,

walking to the bus stop,

wearing a red coat.

 

Maybe I noticed the birds,

the trees with bare limbs

and the few flowers

that had begun to show in the yards.

Perhaps not.

 

But today I did

and blended it

with that memory

of long ago.

 

A good day beginning.

 

© Glenda Kotchish

March 21, 2017

Chairs

It was a test.  They knew it.  Four young people: one 28, one 27, one 26 and one 25 years old–male, female alternately.   Two were musicians, two were not–all educated.   No one told them it was a test.  They instinctively and immediately realized this when they filed into the room and saw the four chairs–spaced exactly 24 inches apart–in a row.  Each chair was different, like out of a museum.  Perhaps they were museum pieces.

The 26 year old thoughtfully looked from chair to chair and then from face to face.  After a few moments he moved in front of the high back wooden chair positioned directly beneath one of three stained glass windows.  He  bent over and examined the chair.  After a moment, he straightened and glanced to his right.  The 28 year old had quietly moved to his side.  She was absorbed, examining the short wooden chair with arms.  A horizontal, dark stained glass window through which no light could pass was behind and above it.

She felt his eyes upon her and looked his way.   Her nod was almost as imperceptible as his.  Together they left the room, she leading , he silently following.

The 27 year old shrugged her shoulders as she watched them leave.

“Shall we?”  She held our her hands to the chairs.

He shook his head.   Then smiled with his eyes.   In two strides he was upon the chairs, moved two in front of the others.

She sat.   He sat. They removed their music from their bags and placed it on the chair backs.  He played flute, she percussion.

 

(C) Glenda Kotchish

January 18, 2017

VMFA  American Wing

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