Friday, March 10, 2006

Sharp Intake of Breath


Scream in the darkness
but make no sound.
Flash all the lights,
but the bulbs are broken.
Clang the bell
that has no tongue.
Clap your hands,
whose skin has unraveled
in shreds.
Walk to the farthest end
of the road only to find
that there is no one there
to cry for you.
Who will sing
at your funeral?


i would like to feel healthy again. is this winter ever going to be over? the temperature rose above 50 today; what a relief, even though i know it will drop again. perhaps my throat won't hurt tomorrow. at least i can draw a full breath. i feel like the hands in this poem, whose skin has unraveled in shreds. my body is not whole. whenever i try to exercise again, like visiting the gym on tuesday or walking on monday, my body rebels the next day with aches and a relapse into the bronchitis symptoms. i am deliberately staying in tonight, though i fiercely want to get in the car and drive to town to see a band, drink a drink, laugh with rick or some other friend. as soon as i can possibly be assured of falling asleep, i will go to bed. my eyelids are heavy even now. this would be the second night this week that i went to bed this early. so what? it was a busy week, with several emotional meetings, some taxing stuff in my classroom (yeah? like what, wimp?), several early morning meetings, and then today being a student instead of a teacher.
yes, life goes on.
xo

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Sometimes the Way is Not Clear

I have drawn a map of my heart,
and pinned it to the wall for study.
Yours is the biggest region,
vast acres covered with pine forest.
Just as you are now unable
to replant the ruined miles,
I was unable to uncover
their secrets during my time there.
I walked so many years
over an unpaved road,
where trees leaned in to protect me
from the worst of the rain
or the heat of midday.
As I looked to the east, I saw
a stand of birches,
black and white and backlit
by fall poplars, yellow-leaved
and vibrant in the breeze.