Tag Archives: safety

Walls

Walls – safe, predictable walls

Not meant for scaling

Or maneuvering around

Not even meant for

Sitting on a sunny day

 

Walls have a purpose

You stay there

I lick my wounds here

Thou shalt not

Echoing in my cries

 

I never realized

How intrinsic a part

Of me walls are

Bet you were surprised

To see them

 

How can I conduct

A relationship from

My ivory tower

If walls come tumbling

And I stand unguarded

 

It may be that walls

Were not meant to define

But to take a breather behind

Perhaps – but I am naked

Without wall comfort

Don’t try to shatter my walls

Or you may find them

Shattering me.

Safety or . . .

I just got back from elder-sitting for six hours. I was there a couple of evenings ago as well. It occurs to me the humiliation and anger an elder feels when someone else has to tell him or her what can and can not be done. To b told you are moving around to much. . . that more rest is needed because you are short of breath . . . or you need help going to the toilet. I don’t know about you, but I’d resent it.

It doesn’t matter that you Need a monitor. She is there and that is enough. Everything coming out of her mouth might fuel anger and hate even more. Even if some part of you knows it is necessary. It infantilizes an adult who has lived independently for the balance of his life. His wife is as confused as he, more so. But they are of one breath now. He eats half a sandwich, she the other. But her mind is going, she continues to recover from seven strokes.

He tries to sneak out the door, rolling the wheelchair in front of him, touching his finger to his lips toward his wife. As if I wouldn’t see him. He wants to go to the front desk – one floor and a lot of walking away – to get an envelope. Something it would take at least an hour to do on his own, with me it is ten minutes. But he would have had his freedom for a time.

What is more important, moments of freedom or safety? Someone to watch over him, even though he doesn’t know her well? Someone who needs to try to calm him, to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself? I’d choose freedom every time. I already do. So I know I am nothing but an intrusion. He is a man with a wife and a rich and full life at one time. And now it’s over, with some woman telling him to “behave” as if he were a recalcitrant child. My rage would be unspeakable . . . is his?

The Door

 

The door moves in the breeze –
gently swinging back and forth
not quite sure if it wishes
to completely close,
locking out intruders
from the harbor of the home . . .

. . . or swing wide, allowing
all interested parties
permission to enter the sacred
hollows of an empty vestibule.
To “pillage and plunder”
or bow in reverence
to the deities inside.

Perhaps a gatekeeper
would be the answer.
He alone holding that
secret password which when
voiced grants passage, secret words
or gestures symbolizing mutual
understanding an respect,
a silent promise no to violate
the treasures that lie within.

Yes, a gatekeeper seems
the best solution,
for we all know don’t we
doors have no minds,
they operate by outside stimulus,
gentle hands or barking orders.
The door, holding so much power,
fails to see its own authority,
allowing others to govern
its destiny
.