Why was I hurting?
It was not from outside of me.
It was not near. Those were simply agitations.
It came from deep within,
Far reaching, through me
Signaling from another place.
I could not understand.
I hadn't learned that kind of listening yet,
Trusting my body's voice.
I had been hating it for years,
Years of speaking pain, ugliness, loneliness,
The waves became my solace, their motion
And the hot breath of the sun on my skin
And the reassuring lull of life in the live oaks above.
And that solace became a voice,
A voice of deeper connection, many connections,
Connections I was only beginning to make.
The answer appeared days later
In a dark phone booth, the air turbid with an approaching
Storm and the dark, musky smells of street corners.
"Mom.....in the hospital?.....a lotta pain?
But when?....When?.....When did it happen?"
That day on the island
Some 1,500 miles separated us.
One voice bound us together.
To some, this may have seemed a small thing.
To me, it was sacred.
It was pain felt, yet unrealized
Guiding me like a deaf mute
Anxious unfamiliar hand signals flying
Slapping and beating the air.
What? What? What the Hell are you trying to tell me?
I can't hear!
I don't understand!
I hear a miserable voice, my miserable voice
Filling my head.
My feeling-sorry-for-myself voice is
FILLING MY HEAD!
I need...I need...I need...
of my sacred voice.
Then the answers will come.
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|Links From This Article|
|Words on the Water: Maggie Figgis||Island Sestina: Kathleen Firestone|
|December Morning: James Mitchell||Ripening: Duncan Sprattmoran|