Education

“One should say before sleeping, ‘I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knees and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.”

--From an essay by W. B. Yeats

Education


The things I know about are
my plain, little hands.  A pair,
and they spell things into the empty draft
like Singer,
rabidly,
seriously,
hoping my deaf and mute
friends will someday take the time
to hear my hungry/clanging message:
“                                              “

This is terrible.

I am so very afraid of everything I own
and of how it all owns me.

The cabin in my thoughts
is empty
save for white linens
and milled soap
my dog
my books
a shelf
shade
relief
snow.

This poem isn't soft. Instead it's spongy
and absorbent of what I can't say.
I would have rather it been soft.

Or even angry,
that he should know that he
could have talked to me about his
sadness.


I fear my own belongings,
my feelings, my pens.

I will write to you
secretly here,
but please don't tell anyone,
please don't look away.

ROUGH DRAFT, OBVIOUSLY

I would like to be small.  I want to fit inside
of a thimble.  I want my guts to be accessible
with only slight pressure. 

I would like to pass my time in some other way.

I would like to file away the parts of myself that
mimic my mother.  I want them categorized,
so neatly organized until I am no reflection than
that of a moon: cloistered, motherless, alone.

How strange, to realize all at once how much you are truly wasting your life.

STOP
WAITING
FOR
THINGS
TO
HAPPEN
GO
MAKE
THEM
HAPPEN