Not in charge

OK.  I know I am not in charge... a lot of the time anyway.  Being an intern at the halfway house is a continuing lesson of being valued but not in charge.  Choice, yes, but not in charge.  That is why I*m there (I remind myself), to learn what this piece of the world looks like so I can translate when I*m done.  There are different rules here.   I move between clients of my own, office walls and furniture and particular books on the shelves, and being an intern.  I find myself building walls, sitting on top of them, and sometimes hammering out a brick from the middle so I can see through.  It is not easy to figure out where I need to be.  I may have more of it down by the time I leave.  Then again, maybe not.

It appears I am not in charge.

Even when I have the very best

Of intentions,

I am not in charge.

I have choice

Yes

But I can choose

To let things go,

Watch them walk away

Even grieve their going.

I can miss them when they*re gone.

In fact

If I don*t notice

That they*re gone

It*s hardly a choice

At all.

Just a wall, that*s all,

A high brick wall.

It blocks the sun,

Divides the world in two.

Any green which sprouts on the other side

Is lost to me.

Out of sight.

I watch them walk away

Realize again

I am not in charge but I can grieve

Their going

Miss them when they walk away

Grieve

Knock another brick out of the wall

Perhaps in the middle

So I can see through

To the green.