Post-script

I want to be blunter, sharper,
hotter. To provoke,
to burn, to sear your
insides with words.

I want to stop
bargaining, with
God, the archangels,
and the universe (I want
to know where
to put my faith
and rest there, as if
I were already
in heaven).

I want to stop
offering to be better,
kinder, and more loving
to my body, in return
for a benign
biopsy result, as if
rewards only come
to those who live
the worthiest of lives.

I want to stop
trying to trace a line
from A to B,
mark out a trail and
follow the breadcrumbs
as if finding an X
will lead to the gold-
en cure or somehow,
at least,
give reason to the
reasonless, the random and
the inexplicable.

Like, maybe, I haven’t
eaten enough green and diverse
fruits and vegetables, or done
enough cardio exercise that
really got my heart rate up,
or maybe I spent too many years
smoking menthol cigarettes
and losing my mind
in alcohol infused binges,
or is it because
I stressed too much,
worked too hard,
and drank in pain
like I was swallowing
water. Or maybe I just
waited too long to
have my babies,
and spent too long
holding anger, instead,
so finally it found a spot
to set up permanent home,
in my breast. Or maybe,
I kept too many ‘bad’ secrets
that weren’t mine
to keep, or maybe
I just never
loved myself enough.

Or maybe, it’s like
my nine year old son,
the oldest, and sweetest,
poet I know,
just said,
‘why do people
have to die, it’s so unfair
and so easy, you could
get hit by a car
or a bus, or a
missile.’

(Post-script: it was benign)

In need of water – small stone Jan 29

the red flame of fear
burns alongside
the pale blue of worry.
they have lit the whole
of my insides, scalding me 
into impotent incertitude.

Contrasts – small stone Jan 22

‘oh, god’ says one, shaking with fear
‘oh, yay’ says the other, jumping with excitement.
Thunder thunders, hail hammers, wind wails
blue has turned to black
on a wintry summers’ day.
The sunflower stands and stares,
oblivious to it all.

Last Shake #9506 – small stone Jan 15

We are like tiny insects, congregating on the back of a sleeping giant, 
who groans and writhes in his sleep.  
That body beneath us roars and trembles.
You hear him before I feel it, and rush toward me, bright blue eyes shining with the now familiar dark shade of fear.  
I wonder, as the giant and you return to rest, how many more your little body can absorb.