Sunday, October 15, 2017

January 20, 2017

Blue Autumn


Ever since then,
it goes like this.

We eat. We sleep.
Sometimes we dream
before getting up
and losing the thread.

We walk the same steps
to the bathroom,
the sink.
We sit down
We rise.
The floorboards creak.

We reach for our phones,
inevitably.

Click

and free fall down holes without any roots.
Ghost walk through mirrors which enlarge and distort.
On rooftops patroled by wolves in wolf clothing,
we sit on adrenaline and wait. some. more.

Click.

Why this grief we've invited
that's just within reach?

Trump. Puerto Rico. Mass shooters and "balance."
Nuclear war. The first amendment. Environmental armageddon.

Ire comes early. Shock, then despair.
Because—none of it's as shocking as it was last year.

We put the stone in our pocket,
get ourselves off to work.

Back home, tucked in bed, we dread
what's in store for our children's kids.
Wonder at the blitheness
with which we gifted them life.
Would we change it?
No. But it's a thought.

And yet
the most of us—
we do keep our heads.
We've adjusted—roughly—to
the nightmare we live,
ears barely ringing from the blanket alarms,
eyes blindly scanning for the next savior
or devil.

Denial—oh yeah. But only in spurts.

Hope?

Oh, Obama. Hope is changed.

For fear's made us children
in our abuser's house
and hope is most dangerous
when the tyrant is scared.

And yet, what I want
on this crisp, Sunday morning
that seems, by all appearance, so ordinary
is for someone to cover
my screen with their hands
and to say:

"I don't know, either,
baby bird, little lamb.

But it's autumn outside.
Look.
All the things—they're changing again.

Point your finger out there,
to the ones you can touch.

Take the roof off the sky—
see how high we can jump."


4 comments:

Anonymous said...

... I want so, to take that stone out of my pocket.

the walking man said...

I will hold the fear of tomorrow away-until tomorrow. Though I know that eventually there will be no more tomorrow I can at least comfort myself knowing that I tried to make today live for one more day. Click I found the door to the wormhole has an off button--I only reach for my flip phone to see if it's charged. There is no missed call only autumn outside, warm unseasonable autumn. I do not like being led, let them that lead to the abyss go there. They will be the first over the edge.

Charles Gramlich said...

Sometimes the only cure for the fear is to turn off some of the informational sources. I've been trying that on occasion of late, trying to keep my days to manageable levels of stress.

roth phallyka said...

They will be the first over the edge.


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