Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Day 315
11:16 pm
–
grace
–
it is her voice
where I stand in the rain,
bold and free
as a place that never
gets enough rain
it is her departure
where I am back in the desert,
too parched by the plain,
ever familiar
–
–
tkk
–
the bed post
–
There are days when it feels
completely natural to wake up
and step from the bed, into a
puffy, golden cloud of the unknown,
perfectly happy with the unnamed
adventures about to unfold
Other days, the floor rises up to
host a murky swamp that laughs
at my feet, pointing out my crooked
toes and unkempt toenails and
already, we are off to a bad start
The difference usually lays in
last night’s bed, what head hit the
pillow, with what heart, open as
the first breath or damaged as the
one given away to the shocking
nightmare we knew was coming
It is easier to say we are prepared for
the worst, to hedge our bets against
ourselves, that the tightness in our
shoulders will go away with a good
night’s rest, when we really want to
remain chained to the bedpost
It is better this way, I can not fall
any further and will be much safer
from the truths down the corridor,
let me stay here, safe in stiff, old
sheets, in predictable longing for an
old promise, in yesterday’s bed
–
–
tkk
–
–
