Don’t Be a Spectator

 

“I suppose I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon hysteria, who were frightened of life, who were desperate to reach out to another person. But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really.” 
― Tennessee Williams

In the spirit of this quote (though perhaps with a bit less fear and hysteria), I am asking for your feedback. I have been working on this poem for months. It is SO CLOSE to where I want it. Please comment: what themes/meaning jump out at you? Where do I lose you?

Thank you in advance. Writers simply cannot do this alone. (Also, a big heartfelt thank you to Tamra J. Higgins and The Writers Circle for getting this poem to its current state of near-completion)!

Spectator
twenty:
The shore curves concave to the sea:
iridescent water pulls my ankles.
Feet buried. Breath held.

thirteen:
My mother points to a “blood root” (not the flower),
but a rust-colored tree root arches along the forest floor,
exposed by a trail-maker’s hoe.

A maple leaf, dressed in the same color
dances onto another life,
a pruned branch heals over
(a fist punches the air).

six:
I ride this wave, icy, to the earth.
Its force tumbles me over, over,
salt in my throat. Laughing.

twenty-seven:
I peer over the lawn of the housing complex:
trimmed and sopping with mud
the high water table and recent rain
gleam on bright blades of grass.

A spray bottle of Weed-Be-Gone lays by a flowerbed.

Dandelion, day lily, black-eyed susan, honeybee
beckon behind my eyelids.
I’m up to my knees, now.