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