A Poem For What Just Happened, In Three Parts.
I.
If you are unsure, holding a hand —
if you would take a hand into your hand
and not be sure — do not take the hand.
Unfairness is not the subject here.
Blood is the subject. Blood and skin and
bones that need the certainty of
a comforting squeeze
or a light caress.
You are not holding the hand of an idea.
That hand is that person.
Let go; let fingers slip from fingers;
let the temperature drop as they cool;
let go.
For a long time, you will reach into mist,
you will touch the bark of a yew,
you will tap metal and
you will wash your hands in hot water.
Everything will feel like that hand.
Everything is more sensitive now.
Bones and skin and blood,
as old friends, reacquaint
themselves as you forget the angle
of the wrist, the callouses, the
lines and the scars.
II.
I don’t want to take the pill.
I do not want to take this fucking pill.
I signed up for this, and the pill
is now severed neatly
with the plastic gadget
and I even have a silver pillbox
and I do not want to take this pill.
I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy for
being afraid of horrible things.
I’m
not
crazy
for being afraid of heartbreak, of
loss, of failure. If I am crazy
for these things, then you are too.
It’s good timing. Timing. Time.
Now is the time for all good pills
to come to the aid of my brain.
The timing is perfect.
I cut the pill in half
like we cut us in half.
I’m not crazy.
It is in half.
I’ll take it. I won’t take it.
I’ll take it.
Side-effects include:
anorgasmia
weight gain
stomach upset
nausea
tremors
swearing a fucking lot
jiggling my leg so hard it bruises
fucking swearing a fucking lot
hot flashes
second-guessing
self-doubt
hysterical laughter
hysterical tears
self-doubt
self-doubt
self-doubt
I’ll take it.
III.
This part of the poem is a secret.
This part has words I won’t give you,
not because you’re wrong or far away;
I simply do not have them yet.
Shapes on the horizon, vowels
as tall as buildings, consonants
the shadows between them, loom.
Tone drifts as low-moving clouds.
I am a mile away, on the long road in,
radio on, windows down,
and I am smiling.
— Halsted M. Bernard
8 Comments
sweet lovely halsted
hang in there, and i am sending you lovely fluffy bunny & ickle cutie itty bitty kitteh vibes wrapped up in love from kiwiland
I landed on your site about 6 months ago, but upon checking in today I was totally drawn in, from hand to pill to smile, and eventually to much of the prose that preceded it. I even ended up on an Amazon wish list on a whim and had a brief impulse to purchase The Prisoner and send it anonymously, but sometimes impulsive random acts of kindness toward strangers can be perceived as a little off key, so I demurred. Still, I wonder whether I am the only one who sometimes when completely relaxed and drifting into a semi-consciousness dream state is startled by a red ball advancing across the open ocean of my mind.
I enjoy your writing and will be back on a regular basis.
Hold tight to that smile.
Cheers,
-Bill
Damn, but that was elegantly done. Even the fucking swearing a fucking lot. Beautiful.
Stand strong and breathe easy.
Excellent. Raw. Brave. Pulled me straight into the vortex. Or maybe I was already there. Well done.
wow, that was amazing. thanks for sharing it with us. I’ve read no better.
I was pretty surprised to see this. I’ll admit, I didn’t read it when you originally posted. It took the twitter reference to your breakup to make me wonder what the heck was going on. This is well written. I’m always amazed by what good writing can come from tragedy. I hope you’re doing OK.
Blast. (About the breakup.) But, good poem. I like the first five lines of the second stanza best, I think.
powerful halsted. reminiscent of sexton. my favorite lines:
For a long time, you will reach into mist,
you will touch the bark of a yew