Thoughts from a Diamond City or Ukrainian Hands

by David Caplan

My hands are colored eggs. Easter on my mind. Up they rise holding the moment, Back from the dead. Back from the days of nominal zero. Catching the wind my colored egg sails take me into the deep abrupt. The curve of a leg, the language of the heart or MandalbrotÕs equation. My Easter sails carry me away from Black Holes and Hell up to the Heaven of a purposeful passion lifeÐ
A Reason. I have again tasted joy and the many layers of my Ukrainian SoulÐ
I AM FREE AGAIN Many colors, but whatÕs beneath the thin shell lay the brightest colors of all.

*****

A token of my esteem for you is the willingness to crawl around you and look insideÐ Deep in the heart of a parked carÐYou. Most would dismiss you; of stale make. But I see the seed in all breasts and know, rain can fall even through the thickest forests and the hardest ribs. I will stand with you. I will always love you. I will always love you all.

*****

I am bit. I am scraped, pierced. I am tossed aside. I am a sloth, a tiger, a lion ground to powder and made into Chinese tea. I was so perfect once, then it all fell through my grainy bandaged hands And after, I was the dung heap for a while. How does it stay? Who can make can make the touch of the Gardener stay for more than the time it makes you to feel special, and drop all and sell all to follow the Sun? WhereÕs the Angel to teach me patience now that my hair is just string again and no longer filled with living Dandelions and Daisies? ME. ME! MeÐI am that Angel. I am my own savior in the moments when the footsteps are silentÐ And not because the steps are carrying me, but because there are a lot of fish in the seaÐ ME! Me the winged me. I will teach the rope around my heart to not be a noose when the quiet comes, but a string on a door holding it forever open.

*****

I've agreed to be the savior only as long as it takes for you to be your own. I will be the guide until you regrow your eyes. I will only be the Dali Lama long enough for you to read the label in your own collar that your mommy sewed there, the one that reads: "My little sweetheartÐMy little personal savior." You are what you areÐ I am what I am. And I am not your sailor manÐYou are. But IÕll still steer your boat for a little while, but then I've got an appointment with the fishes who are blaming me for Italian Christmas and Catholic Friday Nights.

*****

So we have walked.

©2000 David Caplan All Rights Reserved