God, be with me now.
But please don't frighten me.
Be here in this room
But don't shake my soul with terror.
Be a mild source of comfort,
A faint reassuring breeze,
Fill me with a sleepy peace,
Be a vague energy to pray to.
Gently stroke my cheek with a wispy hand,
But don't kiss it, or embrace me.
Don't wring my heart,
Don't change my mind.
Be here for me for now,
Be less than what you are.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Summer to Summer
We thought we were only pretending
To be children
When we drew ourselves in sidewalk chalk,
When we ate popsicles and you “shyly” handed me a flower.
But really we were always children
As we went to our jobs in the day
And put our feet up in the evening,
Napped under the ceiling fan in the afternoon.
Then came your birthday
That was my birthday too
With that first timid “I love you,”
Full of apprehension and giddiness.
Now we sing it full-throatedly
Though quietly, steady and assured,
Sometimes amid anger or tears,
Sometimes just to speak aloud.
Now we go to classes in the afternoon,
Our jobs in the morning or the evening,
We put our feet up and write papers on our laptops,
Stretched thin about to snap, awake long into the night.
Now we can’t live in the present
And we can’t leave the present;
The present is only our embrace
And the future is only a dream.
We look forward to an adventure
That might come in Fall, if we can make it work,
But what of the summer?
No more popsicles and sidewalk chalk.
Yet repetition always comes.
Last summer homeless,
This summer an overdue rent check.
And we’ll still sweat and cry under the ceiling fan.
This time more uncertain,
This time more assured,
This time pretending to be children,
In the late afternoon.
To be children
When we drew ourselves in sidewalk chalk,
When we ate popsicles and you “shyly” handed me a flower.
But really we were always children
As we went to our jobs in the day
And put our feet up in the evening,
Napped under the ceiling fan in the afternoon.
Then came your birthday
That was my birthday too
With that first timid “I love you,”
Full of apprehension and giddiness.
Now we sing it full-throatedly
Though quietly, steady and assured,
Sometimes amid anger or tears,
Sometimes just to speak aloud.
Now we go to classes in the afternoon,
Our jobs in the morning or the evening,
We put our feet up and write papers on our laptops,
Stretched thin about to snap, awake long into the night.
Now we can’t live in the present
And we can’t leave the present;
The present is only our embrace
And the future is only a dream.
We look forward to an adventure
That might come in Fall, if we can make it work,
But what of the summer?
No more popsicles and sidewalk chalk.
Yet repetition always comes.
Last summer homeless,
This summer an overdue rent check.
And we’ll still sweat and cry under the ceiling fan.
This time more uncertain,
This time more assured,
This time pretending to be children,
In the late afternoon.
Night
After Dark
Oppressive silence
draws the net
of thoughts and words
tighter, tighter
strangling, binding.
Fearsome whispers
of the steady ceiling fan,
God’s breath maybe
stirring papers on the wall,
making strange rustlings
that turn my head sharply,
that indicate a presence
so still, so terrifying.
So I turn on the TV,
sing songs to myself,
speak aloud,
play music,
seek company,
create noise
to drown out
...
God’s voice?
Demons?
My insanity?
Who knows.
I never will
as long as I can run,
hide,
pretend not to notice.
Alone
Left with only
myself,
whom I hate,
and God,
the Stranger I fear,
I sharpen my claws,
ready to tear
at my soul.
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