Saturday, October 1, 2011


What do you need, Christine?
A hand to push or pat?
A mouth to give advice
such as this? Let your breath
cover mirrors and beware
not to meet your own eyes.

Silence keeps the cracks from
showing, holds death at bay.
The truth is like the seeds
you bury or the stones
you can throw. You follow
this line to where it leads

down, in the deep cavern
where secrets breed like ghosts
born from love. All things end,
but will these words live on?
They wound you like sharp knives.
You turn around and send

them back. How to forgive
and to frustrate your selves?
You watch the skies for signs
of what’s to come, ignore
the cords that bind, the vines
around your heels entwined.

You still cannot decide
to trust, but you can write.
Each poem offers a trail
into darkness where you
mark each footfall you take.
Hope lives behind the veil.

I wrote this over a year ago, going through many revisions. I like how this came out, but the last stanza still bothers me. Also, when I read it at first, it was strange to me, as if someone else wrote it, which is particularly ironic. I had to go through my notes to remember what truths I was grappling with: Poetry as Truth, Self-sabotage, Self-protection.

No comments: