I feel for Gumby

Some things change easily–frighteningly unapproved
the kids hands: bigger every day
taller too–M at my waist
when I remember breaking my back
walking him around by my hands
leaves falling, cold mornings, haircuts again?
Effortless change, washing over us daily
receding to reveal little new everythings.

So why is it so hard
to change myself into something different?
Those little things I hate, daily,
I stretch them away from themselves
into something I can respect more.
Don’t judge. Don’t worry. Don’t snap.
Talk gentle. Be patient. Praise God.
Show others you’re different. Be different.
I pull so hard, making them
into another me, old but improved
and then, so quick, they slip
I watch them recoil into place
like the arms of a Gumby.
Maybe they’ve changed the tiniest bit?
So I start all over again
wondering why they can’t change themselves
like these other things around me.

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5 thoughts on “I feel for Gumby

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