I am working on a one woman show called O MY GOD for my 50th birthday, and so much more. I’ve been wading through moving images from my childhood for days and this one keeps comes back to me over and over. As I pulled it up I realized I don’t remember moving. At all. But I do remember wrapping the ruby glasses my mom used to collect carefully in newsprint and placing them in boxes.

Ruby Glasses 

It’s cinema to me

dust on light becomes mist,

dissolve

evening sundown

to dusk

to twilight,

lighting

my knees on the linoleum

a tint of pale not yellow

but not green

and cool

with grooves that form map lines on my skin

from sitting for so long

It’s okay

I’ll trace them later

under a summer sheet

her picture tucked under my pillow

and a faded window curtain

breathing sleep over me,

set deck

We are moving

and I’m wrapping ruby glasses

with my dad,

I

am

quiet

I am never quiet

I am a tiger

a magician

a trapeze artist

a clown in long blue chiffon

trailing the ocean at my feet

I burble

I giggle

I wonder

out loud

always out loud

I am the maestro of this

this

circus of music

of black cherries and red poppies,

of blue bells

of white sheet wonder

and of mystery,

sound design

I tilt here,

so full

my throat

and the sky I see through my window

has wrapped me

and my shoulders

in a shawl to forget

all the things I will miss

when we leave this place

it slips

and I shiver

the depression glass, the broken porch, the pears

the plums and the cherries

the blossoms

so messy

so pink

and always in my hair,

the sound of my feet

running

tripping

twisting my ankle

falling down the stairs

again

dipping my fingers into the chocolate paint

that smothered

everything in the 70s,

editing

everything you built with your hands

for her

will be gone

like her

from both of us

I won’t remember my last sleep in this house

I won’t even think of it until

now

like cinema

but I will remember

wrapping

ruby

glasses

at seven years old

my hands, your hands, her glasses

in newsprint

like moving pictures

This poem was originally published on Medium.

TinaO is a storyteller, performer, and a professional listener who works with narrative and story structure as a vehicle for human connection. Her work is rooted in Myth, Mysticism, and the practice of personal faith. She is the founder of Live Your Best Story, a weekend retreat of deep listening held on Bowen Island, BC, Canada and is the voice and story behind TinaOLife. Tina is a proud associate of PowHERhouse Impact Media Group where she listens and supports the ‘stories’ of whole and integrated leaders of tomorrow.

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