None the Worse for Wear

Old poem from back in the day when I wrote such things.

My late teen and twenty-something self (summarized in an earlier post, "Who in the World is That in the Mirror") was not inclined to get too close to anyone, unhealthily ready to self-sabotage when things were going well, inclined to find comfort in over-analyzing situations, feelings, and people. All this helped maintain a bubble of comfortable distance…this poem was written in that heyday. I don’t dislike that earlier me and I’m not really trying to judge her - she has over the years become an old friend that exists separately from me and sometimes we commiserate together - hope that isn’t some kind of schizoid thing.

---

Sometimes I believe you are gone,

Sometimes I think you’re somewhere near.

Awkwardly stumbling, half-blind and past my prime

Forgetful of my path, I pause,

Nurse my stubbed toe, glad I still can feel,

And bumble into something hidden, wonderful, and real.

In that moment you appear and

The world comes alive, ice hot, edges crisp.

We uncover this thing, you and I, seeking to understand,

Poking, prodding until at last, it falls to nothing.

Old Fairy, Andrei Riabovitch, 2021