I was a bit giddy when I came upon him, and grateful to self for
having dragged me out, for it has been a long while since my last
walkabout.
The level of vigilance needed in my job and PPE/safety protocols
changing daily create such high anxiety; do not contribute to a
desire to brave the world on days off, so unless absolutely
necessary, I'm not going out much. But I was glad I did, because
I need outside, it drives everything good about me.
And had I not dragged myself out, I would have missed him! And it
made me smile that someone went to the trouble of creating him,
so that people, people like me, could smile.
I took my photo and went on my merry way, to run the stairs at the
marina, and 'trespass' at my beloved breakwater, visit with
'Resurrected,' smile at the irony of her, and watch the aerialist
acrobatics of the Jonathans in the world.
I walked back the same way I came, because I wanted to see him
again and to check if my own 'art du jour,' was still there,
or if it had been swept away by the tide.
And as I got closer, I smiled to see him, and my own Sea Eggs'n Ham
in the distance, still perched on the log, the one with my
favourite piece of chain on it.
And that, is when Entitlement walked up and said: "Hey did you
see that Reindeer? I think I'll take it home, I mean, there's more
'material' here for them to make another one, they probably made it
for that, don't you think"? I said: "...or maybe they just like to
make public art, to make people smile, people like you and I."
I pointed to Sea Eggs'n Ham, and said: "I build them because they
make me smile, and sometimes, if the tide doesn't take them too
quickly, they make other people smile."
I call him Entitlement because he was well-dressed, well-shod,
and his pure-bred dog was well-leashed with leather gear. He did not
appear to be a man 'in need' of free ornaments for what is very
likely his well-manicured yard.
He did in that moment, however, appear to be a man 'in want.'
A man quite accustomed to getting what he needs, and wants, when
he wants and needs it. And he demonstrated this to me when he told
himself, tried to have me co-sign, a story about the person who
built the reindeer, building it for someone to take home.
And while that could certainly be the case, I doubt it. I think I
know something about public art, and the people who create it, and
I don't think it has anything to do with someone taking ownership of
it, someone removing it from its 'public' space, to be enjoyed
privately, by only one.
I harbour no ill-will toward this man, his utterances and thought
process regarding the Reindeer, are but a reflection of the mass
self-entitlement, the other pandemic, plaguing human kind.
I wanted to say to him, "if you had taken it before I got here
today,I would not have seen him, I would have missed a most welcome
reprieve of joy in my somewhat joy-less world," but I did not,
say that.
I work extraordinarily hard to be kind, most of the time, but my
kindness cup was running precariously dry, for there had been several
'sketchy' moments during my longed-for and sorely needed outside-ing
this day, so I said: "I'll be going now, have a great day."
Entitlement said: "I'm going to go take a closer look at your
Sea Eggs'n Ham," and I could not bear to turn around as we parted
ways, to see if he was heading for the Reindeer.
The Annus horribilis nears its final demise, and another tear traces its way down a weathered cheek. A mother misses her child. The bullwhip strikes the next blow, and a 24/7 mind re-runs the last 365. A mother’s heart never rests easy, the maternal mind replays, everything. The deep welts of self-flagellation burn white-hot, and the mother agonizes, over where and when she had failed. A mother, no matter how exceptional, will rarely never, feel adequate. The bullwhip is heavy, heaved high for the next exquisite, unforgiving lashing, but of a sudden, the mother recoils in revulsion as the mirror reflects her self-inflicted wounds. The child’s choices are their own. The bullwhip falls from her hand, shatters the flawed belief that she had any control over, and little to no contribution, in what has transpired, and a mother comes to the stunning revelation that: she is but flogging the rotting flesh of a long dead horse. Rest in scarred and jagged equine pieces, A mother must find joy! ~Marcela, December 31, 2020: looking back to move forward. Writing: All Rights Reserved Image: Google Search 'Palomino'
~Marcela: desperately seeking a desirable next,
in Ye Olde Queendom of Quack.
October 25, 2020
Bitch, when you come for me,
slinging fictitious accusations,
odium and slander,
I will not come for you,
flinging righteous recriminations,
for to wile and guile,
I will not pander.
Bitch, when you come for me,
un-shielding a hot blade of fallacies,
short truths and tall tales,
I will not come for you,
wielding absurd analyses,
for defensive drivel,
rarely prevails.
Bitch, when you come for me,
impelled by your suffering, my own to repudiate,
a pain solely yours not an iota is mine,
I will come for you,
compelled only to extricate,
for peaceful relations, means
never, entwine.
~Marcela: happy to wear what is mine,
refusing to don that, which is solely part of some one else's,
current emotional wardrobe.
August 08, 2020
Poetry and Photograph: All Rights Reserved.
I set a place for you
For you have long sat
At my table
I set a place for you
For I miss the meals
We often shared
I set a place for you
For you have long lived
In my heart
I set a place for you
For I cannot but love you
In Absentia
Marcela: loving you. July 25, 2020
I awoke to twittering birdsong,
and a fresh spring breeze
danced through the open window,
and I was puzzled,
so I queried
the disquieting encumbrance,
which sat so heavily
in my heart.
And as every morning,
since Monday last,
I remembered
where you are.
I hold you close
my dearest friend,
like a child
her well-loved flannel;
And 
Marcela: Unfiltered 