light | mareymercy.

If that title doesn’t draw you in I don’t know what will.

After yesterday’s post about balance, Friday I decided to take care of some items on that lengthy to-do list I’ve got going. I went to get my car inspected since it was due last month, but there wasn’t one photo opportunity in that auto shop that I could find. However, I got more photo opportunities at the Firestone dealer I had to visit when my car failed inspection due to four worn-out tires (I knew they were bad, but I didn’t think they were fail-car-inspection bad). This place provided a few interesting shots (very few), so I thought I’d share them.

They said I needed four, but I’m a rebel so I only got three

This Firestone dealer is in a little old building off of what at one time was a small-town main drag, so it’s all homey and nice, with French doors everywhere, and a wraparound porch with rocking chairs. Of course I didn’t take any photos of that stuff, because I was too busy being fascinated by the bathroom, which was the HUGEST auto shop waiting room bathroom I have ever seen. I tried to get some pics that would accurately represent its scale, but they kinda don’t and they’re boring so I’m not going to post those. But I did get this cool pic of its glass brick window; I love how the light shone through just enough to create that contrast with the wall.:

Those fragrance sticks had no scent left whatsoever. Still, pretty window.

And I liked the pics I took of the overhead fixture in there too – the tungsten light gave the shot a nice warm glow, and I didn’t have to edit it to get this tone (although I did edit a bit, I didn’t change the tone of original):

I know it’s just a light fixture, but in my defense, tires are expensive so my mind was elsewhere

That’s all I got really. Except that I did also listen to a few sessions of a lecture series on treating anxiety that I signed up for back in June and never accessed. Hopefully I learned something I can use tomorrow when I pick up my car and get the bill.

A Healing Art

A girlfriend found one in her breast
while still in college. One day
a woman read her palm and tarot cards,
pressed a hand against her chest,
another to her back, applied white light
and made it disappear. One night

my fingers touch my skin to prove
I am still here, and here, and here –
to forgive a body less than loved or trusted.
I find I cannot keep my hand away, slip my fingers
between lace and blouse, seeking proof
of what I own. I want to take hands

and press them close, say:
here is truth of what I’ve been.
I want to feel white light, the warm remedy
of touch against the poison of my skin.
Instead the surgeon snips me open,

allows the wound to spill like sugar
from a packet, instead the surgeon tells me
that my scars will heal, rubs his hands together
like a cartoon villain on the verge of stealing,
says: I want to warm my hands before
I touch you, and smiles, assuming humor,

pressing palm against my chest.
I want to hold him there, the weight
compressing tape and flesh, say:
I’ve given you nothing. Say:
I only let you take
what I no longer wanted.

For the We Write Poems weekly prompt.