III. Working the Loop.

I’m still working on it.

Still working on it.

Working on it still.

Working, working—

still, I’m working.

Still on it, working.

I’m working on being.

Being.

Being still, still being.

Still being worked on. Still.

Still working on it.

Some days, I start over

before I’ve even begun.

Other days,

I move like I never lost the way—

like becoming had only paused.

 ...

My shopping cart’s wheel is jammed.

I push, veer, straighten, drift.

Every step forward resists.

I drift, push, straighten, veer.

The loop is holy. The friction, home.

I tell myself I’m telling myself.

I tell myself I’m told.

Told myself to tell myself—

still, the old me holds.

Hold against the folding.

Fold where I should hold.

Hold or fold? Hold and fold.

Fold to hold, hold to fold.

Held and folded, fold and hold—

a dance of edges, soft and bold.

...

I know the right thing.

But the right thing knows me, too—

knows my shortcuts cut short,

my detours dressed as direction,

my prayers, my offerings to the gods of postponement.

Each delay a devotion, each excuse a solemn psalm.

It waits where I leave it—

right where it always is.

Watching me, almost.

Watching me, still.

I veer again—

one wheel dragging, familiar.

Still, I move.

Of course off course.

Still me, almost.

Almost me, still.

Almost.

Still, almost.

Still working on it.

Still.

For what it’s worth,

-Charlene Iris

One thought at a time.

One truth at a time. 

Because some epiphanies stay with you.