The Finishing Project: Installment Three
They say Cancers lean toward hyperbole.
A making of something out of nothing.
A life-threatening walk in the Sahara or an arduous walk to the library with a faulty baby carrier.
It's all the same to me.
Or to my imagination.
There are similarities, I swear!
The unforgiving sun penetrating coveringcloth,
The mercilessly steep and endless uphills.
The body's screams of musclemaddness and throat angst.
The carrying of a heavy, crying, overexposed child.
The desperation of knowing that I have no other choice
than to do exactly what I don't want to do.
Which is to press on.
Knowing that there is no one else to save us,
that this time we have to make it home on our own strength.
Still naively believing that if I plead enough,
Someone, somewhere will rescue me.
Then the after annoyance of accomplishing it,
The moving-on dishonors, invalidates.
We walk together,
You and I.
Kind and hateful memories will me on.