Blackjack

June 23, 2005
for Ada

Have been reading through old stuff, remembering where I've been, how I've healed, how I am still so very broken. I am particularly fond of this poem. It describes a moment in time of learning to trust someone outside of self- a prerequisite, it seems, for learning to trust self.

I cut and pass my deck of daisies
across the table to the dealer.

One up, one down.
The Queen of Spades is showing.

"Hit me."

You stare at me,
as if I just said the sky is purple.

"HIT me."

English must not be your forte,
or perhaps Blackjack is not your game.

"Goddamnit, HIT ME!"

I have the urge to jump across the table
and wrench your hands from your pockets;
force you to deal the cards I've handed you,
like everyone else has done.

If you're going to sit at the Blackjack table,
don't twiddle your thumbs...

Hit me or leave.

You do not vacate your chair.
You simply eye the card in front of me,
the one neither you nor I have seen,
and it occurs to me
that I have gambled my life
with half the knowledge it takes
to win.

You place a single finger atop the deck
and slide the long awaited card toward me,
then you slowly turn it over to reveal
the King of Hearts...

And my heart cracks,
cries, screams, kicks and pleads,
begs me to retract my words.

But too late.

A tear escapes my eye
as reluctantly it finds
the card which I've neglected.

My trembling hand extends,
touches lightly on the lovely white daisy
gracing the back of the card.

I close my eyes, grasp the card,
slowly turn it over;

breathe relief-
indeed, the first breath of a lifetime...

An ace.