Reflections of a most unusual summer

This was a prompt that came to me from Nikki Patton. Nikki is a writer, who has been active in the Island's music, theatre and writing communities for decades. Her prompt was in an email this week. 

This most unusual summer….

The grief inside me burns deep as I witnessed a group come together. They kneel for Black Lives Matter. Who am I to live in this place of intellect and thought?

There is relief that I am among wealth.  Gardens in bloom all summer fills my morning cup. 

Our communities struggle and our suffering is hidden. We take to the streets to show our solidarity and hold discussions to unravel the complexity of race and economics.  

Fires burn and our leader defends his coverups. 

I go to work seeking the truth. 

Am I doing the most with what I have?

Am I leading the life I want? What is the want?

For peace and equality? That is too large an order.

Perhaps I settle for crispy fried gluten free chicken and a plate of heirloom tomatoes, warm off the vine and take to the beach my picnic and watch the world unfold.

The world carries on, the waves roll in. I dance in the water and wash away my complexities of wonder and sorts. I look to the veil between us and them and in the clouds I see my mothers and those who watch over me  and allow the water to slip away between my fingers. 

I see the rape, the ancestors weeping and nudging.

This summer that is rolling out like the tide. 

It was to be the summer that we would get back to some normalcy. 

The summer that would provide some reprieve from the lockdown. 

Instead it prodded and poked and relentlessly reminded us that there is too much to still be done.

We emerged softly,  still balancing on what was safe and identifying our pods.

Who was safe? Where have you been? Interrogations and how far have you traveled and when? The questions are an assessment for my safety, not yours.

Fears.

Fear of strangers. Fear of invasions in our community. Fear of the future.

Sadness swept my cabin floor of selfishness. 

My simple life  with a screened porch, an outhouse and a spigot. 

My mismatched down filled pillows are just the perfect comfort for a summer shack and a world so out of balance.

Time with friends, holds conversations that cut into our souls.

The antiseptic that will fight the battles or allow me a time to laugh remember there are still moments of true joy.

Sadness of friends lost and our time  and our world all blends together. 

This was a summer of loss. Our closure is our last conversations. 

I remember your smiles and our laughter and how you each made me feel and that is what I have. 

Life gets condensed to moments in the wounds of loss and images. It's an evolving scare. 

It’s not unlike the wounds of our society masked in racism and White supremacy. Delusions in my mind and my prison of avoidance. 

Missing and searching and finding comfort in what I have. Being grateful in the midst of sadness and finding hope in moments and laughter with someone who is hurting.

Is COVid reaction to our broken world?

My inattention, my lack of action. I work. Who is free to march or to join a cause?

What is my cause? I mean no harm, but silence is a statement and lack of action is an action and I care deeply.

I was young and pretty and blond and freckled and preyed upon for my looks and lengthy legs. I remember my fears.

But what of the mother that warns her kids not to run and laugh too hard and be seen in public drawing attention for fear of their lives? Mine was of privilege and theirs, perhaps not.

The beaming judgements bombarded and received daily?

Police brutality is the pounce, the prey. It’s deep in centuries of abuse and rape of minds and bodies and communities and lands. 

I visit the farm stands and find my raw milk and baskets of berries and flowering herbs and converse with my friends on how to grow a bigger garden.

The truth of reconciliation and reparative measures runs ruts in my path. 

I tread lightly, the moss grows at the edges. 

I discovered the monarch and the bees fluttering from flower to flower in my garden.

I rejoice in my life, I crumble in a heap with my abundance. 

The grief inside me burns deep.