Hindsight, hallowed be thy name.

All I've got is luggage... luggage!
My God! Turn around; find my comrades slumped under the weights strapped to their spine!
Limping, bearing, burdened by non-negotiables while the High Court of Good Karma takes collective sabbatical —
and this knapsack of shame, I've partial credit in filling.

Grey handkerchief, original sin:
one. single. suckerpunch. and my fists are raised forever,
begging for the chance to swing and prove my own strength
— supposing the opportunity never fell into my lap — I'd said "**** it," packed a

hundred grams of bushy brushed-out curls, stop-sign red
fifty grams of lips to match (uniform too, now I think about it)
fifty grams of raccoon eyelids and coloured-in brows
hundred grams of halls of mirrors, circus-attraction Alice
lose a hundred/gain a hundred/repeat til dizzy
hundred grams of ******-in stomach, eyes averted in changing rooms
wigs by the armful — that's three — nom-de-plumes thrown in gratis
(it's only a journey to the rest of my life anyway, I'll need them,
alternative being cinematic debut as Myself)
hundred performances to imaginary audiences, less-than-stellar reviews
hundred grams of overwhelming then underwhelming "on purpose"
hundred grams of laughing off any belief in potential
hundred grams of scratch-marks and verbal fountains of venom
hundred grams of giving almostneverquite as good as I got
hundred grams of group-work alone thank ****(?)
hundred biro-holes stabbed in martyred pencil cases
feral in broad daylight spoiling for a fight
kilo of aiming for 'scary' and landing on 'strange'
kilo of being third to make good company a crowd
kilo of taking sixteen years to find Her
— Shadowboxer Fiona, rhythms invisible, catharsis in art —
hundred doodled superstitious evil-eyes in the ruled margins
hundred laments over the inability to provide a better future

(removed one by one whenever I think the future's mutable)

that one glimpse of white lightning in a violet storm
one single minute's pause to look over my shoulder
scarce-to-zero progress made
endless miles to go
breathless body soaked to the bone
and this useless! *******! bag! of Everything and nothing of value!!
mansions worth of loathing yet there's nothing to lose
did I decide that because I can't change the world, I can change nothing at all
(instead throwing darts at reflections/emotional *****/kicking stray dogs as a full-time hobby)?

O clarity so saccharine that I cannot be angered by the wasted years
only because THERE ARE MORE TO COME
I take it
   off my shoulder,
the first kind action I have spared myself in time unguessable
empty
     the
        contents...
   really
    air it out...
and trudge on
    unaccompanied.
The world's enough of an uphill climb.

Gram had an old piano
It sat in the front room
There was a scorch mark on the top
Made by a cigar from the past
It always sat there silent
I never ever saw it played
But, I heard of all the parties
And the music from gram
She told us kids "don't touch it"
"Just leave it all alone"
So, we left it like she told us
We did as we were told
Even though we'd heard the stories
Of the music and the parties
And the fun that used to be
We watched as Gram would sit
Close her eyes, and fade out
To the parties and the music
And the good times of the past
She'd leave us to our own devices
Of which one, was not the piano
She told us it had been there
Since about nineteen sixty four
And to me, that's a long time
Especially for a piano to not be played
It had to be out of tune by now
But, we'd neve know
She'd tell us of the parties
How the neighbors would drop by
How the music would be lively
Then, she'd fade off once again
Back to the parties and the past
There were mice living in the piano
At least if not now, there once were
You could see droppings in the corner
And the scratches by the pedals
But, we never saw the mice
I guess they knew the piano was out of bounds too
As we got older and time passed by
We wouldn't go to Grams place as much
And she never moved the piano
We would still hear the stories
Either on the phone or during the visits
Both were more infrequent as we all aged
We knew she'd fade off
Sometimes during our chats on the phone
Sometimes during our visits
Back to the past
To the parties and the music
Gram passed last year
While she was sitting in her chair
She went to the past
And stayed there while I was making tea
I ended up with the piano
I can't play, not that I ever would
None of the other could either
But, I was the oldest
Now, every so often, I'll fade out
Back to the stories of the parties
That I never went to
And I think about the music
That I never heard
But, I remember how she said it was
How it must have sounded
The fun they had
The fun she was reliving
Grams piano sits in my house now
In the hall never played
It sits with its memories
Announcing what we all had missed
It sits, silent, and it's me who shares the tales
To all who will listen when they visit
I got Grams piano and I didn't get the mice