"Leaving Town"

            This morning finds me up extra early to prepare for a quick out of town trip. As I assemble all of the necessities we need for Mom, I realize how life has come full circle. Remember all the stuff a weekend trip needed when traveling with very young children? Bags of diapers, wipes, medicines (in case), toys, strollers, booster seat, favorite pillows, blankets, and that special stuffed animal. One bag contained clothing for the days of the trip plus three or four extra outfits for spills.

            Twenty years later, and I pack Depends instead of Pampers. The medications have their own small Rubbermaid tub. I swing a wheelchair into the back of the station wagon instead of a stroller, and I juggle two purses instead of a purse and diaper bag. Mom doesn’t have a favorite stuffed animal, but she takes along her favorite pillow and comforter. I make certain I have the lidded cups she now uses along with the bendable straws and plenty of water to drink on the three hour drive. One bag contains extra clothing in case driving three hours wears Mom out and our one day trip turns into a longer stay until she regains strength.

            Mom asked for this trip a few days ago. For some reason, she has this sudden drive to do things while she still has the energy. On some level, I believe she suspects that even short outings may become too difficult before the year ends.

            Someone thoughtlessly said to me a couple of months ago, “You’re taking care of your mother full time now? I mean, this has dragged on for years!” Her tone of voice carried intolerance and a hint of disbelief, as though she couldn’t believe someone can have a disease that slowly narrows life into counting only good days.

            For us, celebrating good days comes easily. So today we’ll attempt the longest car ride Mom’s done in a couple of years. With luck, she’ll spend a wonderful day and evening with her eldest daughter and make it back to San Antonio with energy to spare. Maybe this trip will be so successful that she’ll plan a trip back to her own home in League City. If fortune follows us, we’ll be leaving town again.

Mom's wheelchair goes everywhere

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"His Way"

 

pseudo intellectualism     

demanding attention with parasitic tenacity   

irrational and illogical   

he vomits     

anger   

spewing intolerance and injustice under the guise of patriotism   

he infects and incites   

taking pleasure in belittling   

priding himself on accomplishments borne by breaking others   

he kills   

hope   

in the hearts of those he can’t love   

demeaning those who need because he cannot give   

 Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Defeated"

 Whenever our world takes a dive into nastiness, my optimistic nature turns mulish. I pep talk myself into believing things will improve since I cannot imagine anyone would plunge our society into darkness. Who chooses politicians spewing hateful philosophies over ones espousing tolerance? Who supports dogmas that foster divisiveness over creeds that call for unity? Who supports a legal system that demoralizes the victim and worships the criminal?  Who willingly supports doctrines that leave citizens battered, bloodied and dead?

     My logical brain cannot comprehend that other people foolishly make decisions based upon emotional rhetoric instead of factual evidence. When I hear these people speak about their “gut feelings” that guide their judgments, my own stomach twists into knots. They add into the mix the prejudices of their religions, biases of their socio-economic class, and abhorrence to all that appears different from themselves, and end up with infectious hatred. 

  Applying heat to this festering hostility will bring things to a head. But can we withstand  this first step in treatment?

  I long to lance these boils, push out the pus that poisons and destroys, and slather on purifying, healing balms. In my optimism, I envision scenarios of miraculously curing our diseased nation. Yet, I fear that the contagion runs too deep, and all I feel is defeated.

Copyright 2016 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Poison"

Inside   

           buried under smiles   

                     as innocent as childhood   

           hidden by energy   

                     that eats the inner core   

           enveloped with laughter   

                     tinged by hysteria   

           where no one can see, or touch, or feel   

                     the infinite coldness   

Waiting   

           surrounded by darkness   

                     like a corpse in the grave   

           clamped down by a vise   

                     whose claws rip and tear   

           forced into submission   

                     until no one’s looking   

           deep down in the well of pitch, and stagnation, and fear   

                     the infinite coldness   

Outside   

           revealed at last in the eyes   

                     through condemnation and indignation   

           recognized by the putrid stench   

                     of pettiness and intolerance   

           exposed in each word and act   

                     through acid hatred   

           an eruption of vomitus bile—black and caustic   

                     the infinite coldness   
   

Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

"Broken"

Her faith folds within itself

foiling logic and reason

forcing her piety into an angry righteousness

that denies mercy

She  subjugates choice

without question
believing in  ritual and prayer—
the indoctrination of her birthright

She kneels with head bowed

invoking wrath against diversity
and shielding her world view
from contradiction

Her devotion condemns

self-determination
as she binds free will
with intolerance

She rejects all
except The One True Path
and distorts deviation into despair
and damnation

Minoan Priestess by David Chapman

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman