Constant State of Flux

A hot summer evening, hot enough

to lay my tireless, unending head

on the pillow for its coolness;

thunder cracking down

my avenue

and the rain slanting in sideways, wetting

the blowing paisley curtains;

somewhere out in that dark the pine I am surrounded by soaks.

 

These nights I am not climbing up the roots of forgotten things,

I am not scrambling

for something solid I can breathe my air into,

that old familiar ache of

wanting to feel through my own skin so hard

that I push right through it like broken bones

 

because I am here, in a

constant state

of awakening, sometimes only to another dream

only to wake up again

and I stand in the mirror across the room,

and the lightning

lights up the black kitchen

and I don’t see wounded eyes flashing

back anymore,

but my image, so alive that it’s white heat snags the clouds in a jolt

and there is a calm

that never seems to tire, embedded in my veins

 

because I have won something

inside the recesses-

I trusted myself in my own hands

when I couldn’t see myself–when I had no hands to grip–

a blind privacy and a last call out to my old will

I had left for dead in the gutter,  camouflaged in an alley

as elegant graffiti, subways and broken phone booths

the shards of glass shattered out across the pavement

and potholes–

      “did you see the moon? in the pieces of glass?”   my will asks me

“I wasn’t looking down,”     I say to my will

       “so then you saw the moon instead, love?”

“No, I tired of dreaming. Hold it up to my face, the glass, and see if I shake,”

My will  smiles,            “straight ahead then, love, beaten and brighter…”

 

And my daughter is asleep tucked away

in the corner of the house;

And the coffee is off,

and the flowers I just planted out in the window-box

are getting beaten but maybe brighter

 

it is enough to have these nights

 

We are not born with a religion in our mind.

We are not born with a narrative or a script.

Tell me you have the courage

to scrawl across your own body

the tattoo of your story,

and would you let someone read it?

 

Advertisements

Thoughts:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s