Weak
Darkness hides the flaws
Of the house we purchased
Less than three days ago.
Fear, terror, responsibility
Like I have never known
Flood my world, my space.
I like it here at night.
Liquor has soothed
The anxiety of the week.
The cloak will fade,
As it does, every morning
To reveal the truth.
I am terrified, and responsible
For real things, right now
And for thirty years to come.
I am proud of myself.
I have reached a goal.
The biggest goal ever, so far…
But I still need my crutches.
I wish I was stronger
Weakness is omnipresent.
jb
Of the house we purchased
Less than three days ago.
Fear, terror, responsibility
Like I have never known
Flood my world, my space.
I like it here at night.
Liquor has soothed
The anxiety of the week.
The cloak will fade,
As it does, every morning
To reveal the truth.
I am terrified, and responsible
For real things, right now
And for thirty years to come.
I am proud of myself.
I have reached a goal.
The biggest goal ever, so far…
But I still need my crutches.
I wish I was stronger
Weakness is omnipresent.
jb
posted by ilightyouup at 8:58 PM
3 Comments:
You are such a drama queen. LOL, GET A GRIP! You make like a zillion dollars a year...what are you afraid of? AND you have alledgedly managed the impossible of being faithful...I'm sure it helps that you probably killed your libido by overuse and drug abouse. But YOU DID IT! Congratulations...welcome to 30 something!
There's a poet you should read--Dorianne Laux--specifically her book, "Poems About Incest" (no irony to the title of the suggestion). I think your developing style is similar to hers.
Plus, she's just a really good writer.
Here's a Dorianne Laux poem:
After Twelve Days of Rain
I couldn't name it, the sweet
sadness welling up in me for weeks
So I cleaned, foud myself standing
in a room with a rag in my hand
the birds calling "time to go, time to go"
And like an old woman near the end
of her life I could hear it, the voice
of a man I never loved who pressed
my breasts to his lips and whispered
"My little doves, my white, white lilies"
I could almost cry when I remember it
I don't remember when i began
to call everyone "sweetie"
as if they were my daughters
my darlings, my little birds
I have always loved too much
or not enough. Last night
I read a poem about God and almost
believed it--god sipping coffee
smoking cherry tobacco. I've arrived
at a time in my life when I could believe
almost anything
Today, pumping gas into my old car I stood
hatless in the rain and the whole world
went silent--cars on the wet street
sliding past without sound, the attendant's
mouth opening and closing on air
as he walked from pump to pump, his footsteps
erased in the rain--nothing
but the tiny numbers in their square windows
rolling by my shoulder, the unstoppable seconds
gliding by as I stood at the Chevron
balanced evenly on my two feet, a gas nozzle
gripped in my hand, my hair gathering rain
And I saw it didn't matter
who had loved me or who I loved. I was alone.
The black oily asphalt, the slick beauty
of the Iranian attendant, the thickening
clouds--nothing was mine. And I understood
finally, after a semester of philosophy,
a thousand books of poetry, after death
and childbirth and the startled cries of men
who called out my name as they entered me,
I finally believed I was alone, felt it
in my actual, visceral heart, heard it echo
like a thin bell. And the sounds came back; the slish of tires
and footsteps, all the delicate cargo
they carried saying thank you
and yes. So I paid and climbed into my car
as if nothing had happened
as if everything mattered--What else could I do?
I drove to the grocery store
and bought wheat bread and milk,
a candy bar wrapped in gold foil,
smiled at the teenaged cashier
with the pimpled face and the plastic
name plate pinned above her small breast,
and knew her secret, her sweet fear--
Little bird. Little darling. She handed me
my change, my brown bag, a torn receipt,
pushed the cash drawer in with her hip
and smiled back.
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