The Narrow Road

The bread crumb of the intuitive voice.

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The narrow road is the one that isn’t marked by fear
and few find it.

Satiated on a
cup of shame, mistaken
for living water.

Drunk on disdain.

A jigger of nervosa
splashed by longing
strained over abidance
garnished with a curl of abnegation.

Mollified by righteousness.

Pass the cup, douse the flame.

~Crystal Marie, 2022

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“The narrow road is the one that isn’t marked by fear and few find it.”

This one line jumped out at me as I flipped through my journal this morning. Sometimes that is all it takes for the idea wheels to start turning on a blog post or a poem.

Sometimes the ideas come as downloads of information, or fully formed essays or poems. Other times it is a bread crumb laying on a trail that leads me through the bramble hunting for the full meal, piece by tiny delectable piece. Looking up words, and searching hazy concepts online, until the words begin to fit together like pieces of a puzzle. I think of this as a verbal collage, having the same sense of uncertainty for the outcome as I sort through the elements on the table with my intuition as my guide.

This one began with that single sentence scrawled on a page in my journal. Whatever compelled me to write it down, long forgotten. The next line came with a visual— “cup of shame”, bringing to mind a poisonous cocktail, expertly shaken. Coming up with the recipe for this concoction brought back late night memories of hours spent in word play at my kitchen table after the kids were all tucked into bed.

A magnetic poetry kit, given as a gift from a friend when I turned 30, reignited my love of words. A gift card from the local bookstore was spent on a new Dictionary and Thesaurus. Long before I began dabbling in collage, I think back on this time spent writing lists and lists of words. Piecing together the angsty poetry of a single mom feeling trapped by circumstance and family systems.

It wouldn’t be long before I packed up those kids and that poetry kit and ran away for a job opportunity in the big city. Escaping what I knew in my heart would certainly destroy me. Following those bread crumbs in life sometimes take longer than piecing together a simple poem, but looking back on it all now, it was poetry all the same.