This well is dank and dark,
Though they have promised from the depths
She will see stars,
so far, it’s darkness all around.
She only feels
a giant on her chest squeezing
joy, until tears squish dripping out.
She’ll fill this well with grief;
the only escape may be
floating on surface sorrow
until it floods over the wall
with all the sadness she can carry.
Your pain bursts out the barrel of a gun
punches holes through community
explodes small town security.
Neutrality’s a liar.
And in world news:
Notre-Dame Cathedral is on fire.
.
My own photo, detail around the main entrance of Notre-Dame. Paris, 2011.
My own photo. Notre-Dame tower details. Paris. 2010
A poem should stand on its own merits, but I feel like a bit of clarification this time. There was a shooting in my small, Canadian town yesterday. Two people were shot in their church; one died. Our community has been reeling from this shock, and now another tragedy. The loss of life. The loss of a building. Can you compare the two?
Be tangled in the words.
Weave yourself ability.
Knit a world.
Unravel negativity.
Crochet characters uncurled
Stitch together possibilities.
Wind yourself in words.
Snow is falling by the window:
down,
slanted,
sideways,
sparsely,
heavily,
quickly,
slowly.
Everything is possible;
you don’t need to know.
Just rest at the window,
watch the snow.
Let no further discussion
mar your sense of certainty.
Let no logic stir irrationality,
challenge responsibility,
force mutability.
Enough!
Sine pace.
Fix this!
It is
It isn’t
Round and round
I can!
I can’t!
You do
You don’t
and trying
trying
trying
doesn’t make it easier
to pull your broken brain away
from turbulance
I don’t know you anymore
I don’t like you anymore
Loyalty keeps me doing
because I promised him
and you can’t help being broken
I know.
It is
It isn’t
Time ticks by
I try
I try
I try.
