Commonplace

Commonplace

This morning, I watched a dove
waddle a tightrope.

The line swayed as she
jerked her neck,
picked at nits.

It’s unkind to say, but she seemed
unremarkable—
duck-footed and mousy brown 
but somehow still suspended above me,
living life on a higher plane.

When she lifted off,
she squealed delight like a
child flown free of a chain-link swing.

The air
roared
ovation. 

Why are you sitting there,
waiting for grace? 
Waiting aground
for permission
to dare?

Photo by Tyler Jamieson Moulton on Unsplash

The Prompt

I didn’t know when I began writing about a mourning dove that I would end up writing about permission—about what we are and are not willing to grant ourselves. Somehow, though, it’s where I landed, and now I offer it to you as a beginning—as a prompt to launch your explorations.

When you hear the word permission, what comes to mind first? A slip of paper? A signature? A pop-up request from an app that wants to access your camera? Puppy dog eyes and a string of pleases as your child asks if they can have ice cream?

What did the word mean to you when you were a child? Was there something that seemingly all your friends had permission to do—but you didn’t? Did certain ages or milestones come attached to certain permissions? (In my family of origin, there was no ear piercing until eight, no caffeine until twelve, and no dating until sixteen. There will be no forgiving of these unjust deprivations until I am at least 43, which gives me a couple more months.)

What about now? Is there some permission you crave? If you could choose to have a permission slip hand delivered to you by The Universe or God or whomever you consider The Highest Authority, what would you want that permission slip to say? What would you do once you received it?

Have you ever felt like God suddenly hand delivered you a permission slip? Like a door you had viewed as forbidden was suddenly open to you?

As you explore these questions, notice what images come up—what sights, sounds, smells, tastes, textures. Permission is an abstract concept. What images give it substance in your mind? What moments and memories give it substance in your life? Which of these are asking you to hold them within a poem?

You have permission to share your reflections and poems with me in the comments section! I really, really hope you will.