Prescribed pathways

By guest poet Jessica Perini

I understand the grief
The lost motherhood
the empty arms
the longing
Relationships gone awry
The shut doors of 
dream jobs
left for others to ladder
Life doesn’t follow prescribed pathways

The should haves
The could haves
The what ifs

I understand the grief
The plans for travel
Quietly packed
Trunk sealed tight
Locked, key lost.
The dream job
Fled
The stress of each letter read
to stop mid-page
eyes a-blink
mind a-blank
Anxiety 
unstitching all plans.

But it’s ok you know.
It’s ok.
Because though life doesn’t 
follow prescribed pathways
it prevails
in one unique and wonderful phase
after another
Not the prescribed pathway no.

Who would have thought
a dozen African families later
a school on the way
books a-plenty,
though often not the tomes 
pumped through the mechanised
homes
of publishing houses of today
the humble home
the poochy with
da face
That face

at times I tread a thoughtful pace
at times
frenetic
mania of the day winning her way

it isn’t the prescribed path
no way
some might say
lunacy
some – 
a life lost

For me, though for me
it is full a-plenty
a seed
a burgeoning plant
a shrub, a tree
a whole forest 
of wonders

Not the prescribed path no
But who gives a —
Who’s prescribing anyway?
Someone should rip away his book
It is a he isn’t it?

I love my hes
Don’t get me wrong
But they are not the prescribed hes
They’re not the doctors or the lawyers
or the self-made squillionaires 
the straight-laced faces
mums might love.
And that’s ok
they make the tapestries brighter 
the weave so much tighter
and life
oh life
with its complex web of strife and longing
so much more 
a-blaze.

And my shes too
and theys
They’re not the fawning
love lorning
teenage tome heroes.
No way. 
They spike the creative edges.
Edgy sedges
they sop up 
life’s heartache.
They 
stitch it out
one rallying stitch
for every moment they conspire to 
breathe
Conspire? yes.
A conscious choice
to step out from the mire
and craft a sculpture
so daunting
others might laugh
for others cannot grasp
The fragility.
The cut-leaf bleeding 
Hurts their eyes.
For it is too near.

Yes, indeed.
Life does not follow the prescribed pathways
Thank 
the goddess