Upon being asked to write for the school paper, the day before folk fest...

Let Go and Let Goo (the meaning of mud)

Signe Knutson

Up and Down, these times, these years,
these ubiquitous tears,
are flooding the rivers
confusing the meteorologists,
but not me.

Contriving to drown my sorrow
the polar ice caps, the glaciers
and I, are melting,
Raising the water so high
that the prairie has a tide.

When will they realize
the moon is pulling
our collective leg?

They cannot, will not, say that
on the weather report.

Sand bags under my eyes
leak and let the water through.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross is true.
Five stages to let go of you.

I rage, I deny, I bargain, I cry,
acceptance, they say, is nigh.

Upliftment, irie style, sans fumer,
is barely perceptibly encroaching.

I can have fun
I can dance
I can sing

But playing, playing is hard.
Why is playing hard?
Playing should be fun and easy.
That’s why it’s called playing!

My guitar feels like a stranger,
crustily avoiding a handshake.
My words feel overwrought
and codependant and invasive.

Let Go.........
Do people really leave the room when I sing?
Is that a classic symptom I am imagining?
Or are my sounds causing pain?

I’d like to play a song reminiscent of mud.
Warm mud, sticky mud, healthy sturdy chocolate mud,
that everyone wants to step into and dance----slide
fearlessly indulging in the eminent reality
of getting dirty, down and filthy,
knowing that only after such a liberal caking
of earth on one’s skin, clothes and hair,
does the true meaning of shower, bathe,
hence clean, become clear.

Let Go and Let Goo

Now after a year of tears and fears I can really look
a boy in the eyes and return his smile. Thanks for the
invitation. I accept.