No One Left to Blame

 No One Left to Blame

(“Christ made us free. Stay that way. Do not get chained all over again in the Law and its kind of religious worship.” Galatians 5:1)

Now that there is no one left to blame because
they left the machine running and
took an extended vacation
I can finally tell you I never wanted to be a puppet.
The puppet-master insisted he never kept me on a short
leash. But I was not after
a leash at all.
I needed relief,
a wink that opened the world when I shivered
at the 16mm film that got caught in the gears.
The reels had turned true just an hour before.

But when the car has been running so long and
you get used to the fumes,
you learn to presume that the mistakes are all yours.
So I loaded my breath into shipping crates and
buried them beneath the patio in my back yard.
I missed too many birthdays while I shook.
I shoved craters of love into lock-boxes
while I rated my success by numbers, or money,
or morality, or memories and counted to 10.

I cut the strings long ago, but they stay like strands
of spider webs
wrapped around my arms and legs. They try to
make me perform in my dreams. Perhaps if someone
different had been
pulling the strings.

I should puzzle happier words,
I should make you smile,
but the one who told me that was
weaving tourniquets without apology.

Here I confess that control can never be possessed,
but I craved it, to make up for the mess I made while
finally performing on my own. Who knew that freedom
will not be leashed or tied? Might as well try to
lasso the clouds.

Fascinate me once again, with the baby’s cry and
the nuance of candles left flickering in tiny chapels
overnight.