"THE ARCHER"
Copyright 2006 by BARBARA JACKSHA
Chasing
the
Archer
The wizened bald headed pixie
wrapped in maroon robes
speaks
and I listen
because she talks of a faith that allows for laughter
a practice that can be
a riot.
She tells us to imagine that an arrow has pierced our chests
and then asks us to consider our course—
tend to the wound or chase the archer?
I consider my own thwacks
and the years spent pursuing my enemy
my gaze so intent upon her back
I neglected
to stanch the vibrant flow that spilled upon my running feet and
failed to notice
the sweet parade of yellow, azure and wispy white that passed overhead
each day.
Looking through the eyes of the pixie
the years spent running within the walls of my own labyrinth
become a part of my own cosmic comedy and
my life, so far, a beautiful mess.
Everything left in my wake seems
brilliant,
necessary,
and
survivable.
Suddenly I know—
it is never too late
to pluck out the arrow
it is never too late
to give up the hunt
it is never too late
to care for what bleeds
it is never, will never
be too late
to look up.
Copyright 2006 by Hope Payson
Hope writes:
