sorrow, dip, embers, moment, chain, wild, silver, free, trance, glimmer, faint, trim
The Edge of Belonging
I do know that I have always been one of life's observers,
always standing slightly on the outside, watching.
— Jane Green
Like embers floating high
Above and away from the flames.
Like silver glitter swirling in a globe.
The innocent bystander.
The dispassionate observer
Watching, trance like, from above,
The parade, the charade, of life around him.
People talking, engaging, interacting,
Swirl around him, unknowing, indifferent
To his underlying sorrow.
And yet, in fairness, it is not of their doing.
He chooses to be with them, but not in them.
Occasionally, with effort, he pushes himself
To dip into the wild, frightening maelstrom
That swirls around, engulfing him.
But he cannot stay, he doesn’t fit in.
They are free, he too is free, but separately so.
They are not of his tribe, not of his kin.
With them he feels chained, restrained,
More like a suspension than a solution,
In life but not of it. Swirling. Swirling.
A commensal diner at the table of life.
Now and then there is a moment,
A glimmer of acceptance, of dissolving
Into the rapidly flowing tide of life,
A brief contact with a kindred soul.
Entering more a side eddy than the full current,
Life briefly swirls and tumbles then calms.
The parade moves on, leaving him beached.
Only to wonder why? Only to trim his sails,
To reduce expectations, to retreat
To the faint but safe region:
The edge of belonging.
◊
The beating heart of your writing is that tension between longing and acceptance. There’s so much tenderness in that struggle — to want connection, to dip into it, to taste it — and yet to know, deep down, that it may not hold you, or that you may not be able to hold it. Not fully. Not for long. So we learn to live on the edge of belonging, where it’s safe, where we won’t be swallowed whole. It’s lonely there, but familiar. Almost peaceful.
ReplyDeleteYour poem lives in that quiet place we rarely speak of, but so many of us know... Thank you
Your reviews always seem much more elegant and intelligent that my original post! Thank you.
DeleteMaybe it’s just creative trust
Deletemainpoint's eloquent comment summed my feelings up so well. Thank you both.
ReplyDeleteThank you… Some poems don’t try to explain anything - they just sit beside us and let us feel what we didn’t know how to name. This one did that for me. And I think that’s the rarest kind of gift.
DeleteWelcome back!
DeleteSuch a striking and evocative phrase, 'the edge of belonging'.
ReplyDeleteThe actual initiating phrase was "a suspension rather than a solution", said to me by the leader of a group I went away with but felt remote to.
DeleteAlone amidst the crowds, isolated and protected by a thick carapace, longing for, but unable to seek acceptance. And it all happens in April!
ReplyDeleteApril? You mean it gets worse? Oh.
DeleteIsolation beautifully expressed. Give thanks you're not one of the herd. You're missing out on nothing. A commensal diner at the table of life. Great line. A poetry thief will steal this one:) Happy Birthday to you!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
DeleteTake it, use it, polish it, make it glint in the sunlight.
ReplyDeleteThe bit about the parade moving on, I totally feel that. No matter what happens, it just goes on. Very nice poem.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteYour poem surely encourages one to remain positive in the ace of adversity?
ReplyDeleteAn interesting slant.
Deletethe edge of belonging is a really powerful statement to end with
ReplyDelete