A broken tulip

Will the circle, be unbroken, by and by Lord, by and by? / There’s a better home awaiting in the sky Lord, in the sky.

Daddy is a sailor, says, “don’t you sail past this sea, sweetheart. There’s a darkness waiting.”

I dream the world is a bed so wide, there are monsters underneath snatching sailors

at borderlines of darkness, snapping up all who stray into the night.

.

Mommy is a teacher, says, “stay near the door, dear, or you’ll drop off the edge.”

In my dreams the world-bed becomes arms outstretched. Nightmares carry me the span.

I am a small dark dot drawn to extremities, I tip over fingertips, fall into nothingness.

.

Stranger comes to town, says, “come, daughter, point your feet away from this place”

In his song, each step forward is setting my foot to a slope, a living hope

to travel the whole sea of darkness, to journey a circle full as the moon, to reach home.

.

I say my farewells and step. Some folk talk about earth’s circumference.

But those who warn of the planet’s size forget that it hangs, beating,

within their own rib cage. Silence, not sailing, wreaks safe places.

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Isolation is a breath away. Lost is coming home to turned backs where you left faces.

Odysseus persevered for his faithful wife, but some lose the north star before they set sail.

Your feet are unfaithful, the Stranger says. Stop watching your own sail.

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I chart by the Stranger to go straight. Going straight on a round world means coming home.

I dream again the dark bed of stretched arms. Underneath are everlasting hands,

the Stranger’s own palms cup this whole universe of space as if it were sand scooped from the shore

.

there is space big and space small here, without edges.  In those hands

are all circles in smooth spinning.  He holds the world and holds the traveler,

ever in place, always in motion. Snapped faces and loose threads will all wind into something new

.

someday soon. There’s no need to carry a planet weight of loneliness in your child-frame,

child, so let it loose, let it go. And the circle will be unbroken, by and by Lord, by and by.

There’s a better home awaiting, in the sky Lord, in the sky.

This one’s for you, the wanderers. “Will the Circle be Unbroken?” is a fiddle tune I sang as a child with my friends as we ran through the ferns in Canadian forests. It was our one Summer together, and even then the words were poignant. Today’s post riffs off the song. It is not mean to be autobiographical (especially about my parents;)). If you feel like sharing your own wandering writings, I’d love to hear them. If you have are a WordPress guru, I’d also like to hear from you. Formatting verse on the blog is driving me crazy! You can email at: abrokentulipinbox@gmail.com