Soul Mate

Each part of me has a mind of its own

but the part that can respond is expected

to control all—more—to know their reasons

Each part of me has a wild heart of its own

but the part that can be pledged in public

is expected to be the first heart of all.

I am blessed with polyphrenic desire which

takes me every which way so I am grateful

to have one pair of eyes, hands, feet and hips

I can only be in one place at one time

My soul is here and my soul mate is too

I called her Liberty, my little lady, Lib

reached my shoulder when standing, sitting

she knit with short needles in bent hands,

an elder whose brighter-than-the-sun smile

could hold me still while hearts and minds raced—

funny how I always got lost driving to her home

just a short ride from Williamsburg to Hampton

Her magnetic faith reeled me in to read daily

from quaker writings: ancient and modern

alternating her voice with mine until my minds

still and hearts rest, less movement in all limbs

and we lock eyes and grin, ready to engage

in serious competitive Scrabble at the wooden

dinette facing each other until my butt aches

from sitting and now I move with lumbar and neck

pain, sciatica, fibromyalgia, and  arthritis

None of which could harm me, I know,

but some of my hearts panic at the pain

and minds rush to end it, to drug it while

Lib’s arthritic fingers push letters into place,

her knuckles big as her nose, but nothing

stops her—she makes tea, gives me

the largest cup, listens to me worry

why I could not be more like her, until

I tire and finally listen to her talk

About seeing my plays on stage, hearing my ministry,

and choosing then to clear me into spiritual life,

into moving forward when I needed her most, there

at the college she had attended forty-five years earlier

when marriage was cause for dismissal and her Navy

husband, now dead, had been exiled too, but life

goes on.  You are here for me too—and I am tired.

Speaking of wild hearts, my dear friend, you brought

love and light into my heart.  My soul mate.

Posted for Poets United "Poetry Pantry - #110" and Imaginary Garden's "Open Link Night," though I wrote it days ago and held it in my mind far longer.    Lib died on Christmas Day 2011 at the age of 87, but she is right here with me. The poem is about the wild me that she tamed and left wild, God bless her.  A true friend and Friend.  I hope that everyone has a soul mate and a spiritual guide.  Maybe yours was a relative or a teacher?  Enjoy.

  Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast