Monday, May 2, 2016

Poetry Break, Fantasy vs Reality

I'm a few days late for National Poetry Month. But poetry endures.

It doesn’t matter now.
It never really mattered anyway.

It was a fantasy.
A ten year fantasy
in which I struggled to be
and you steadfastly held us to
always separating your worlds
so they wouldn’t
always carefully replacing me in my own
little velvet box
and gently closing the deep, quiet lid
when you left
so that you didn’t hear me and
I didn’t intrude in your
daily life,
bleed into your friends,
spill into your family,
erupt unbidden into your thoughts
at work.

And I breathed life incessantly into
my fantasy
that your heart held me as
mine held you,
and convinced myself that I was okay with
fantasy instead of reality,
that because I enjoyed you,
I enjoyed the fantasy.
My reality was fearful
and you were safe. 

CPR for an imaginary world.

would have our lives
making me
integral to your daily life
and you to mine –
not limited to flurried intersections
of escape from
wiping faces, folding laundry, and
trips to the grocery store when the milk
runs out,
but fastened to them.

Somehow the fantasy has gasped its last
and now
it is nakedly clear
that it never really mattered.


that what mattered in the end
I learned the difference between
fantasy and reality,
that you can’t force yourself
into another’s reality.
I learned to trust myself,
learned that fantasy
- no matter how seductively wonderful -
in the end
is no more than
smoke and mirrors
that disappear
when the lights come on.

- Kara Stewart, 2008

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