I would be remiss if I didn’t share a Dickinson poem on the first day of her favorite month!
Silence was a prison no more
Noise no longer chaos
Conversation held no power
When a gentle effervescent space blossomed
Around Hobbesian anarchy reigned
Horns honked, demanding the right to occupy space not their own
Trash piled on corners and in crevices
Reminders that decay would approach
But within. . . within
A simple kiss was all – forming a new contract
Releasing from the heavy dictates of mortal codes
As silence swarmed around, resisting
Aimless wandering in the quiet
But, the quiet is better with you
Eyeballs with lids peeled back
Thoughtfully wander across the room.
Blue, Brown, Grey, Green, every-
One rests staring at me.
I’ve been caught!
Red handed — literally!
A saw covered in sticky platelets,
My soul laid out like that guilty Plantagenet for all to see and condemn.
My own eyes turned downward at the ragged stumps–
Where my legs once were–
Now just sharp bone, tangled
Veins and crimson.
Questions begin to erupt like magma.
Coming to the surface, turning into destruction and lava,
Crude descriptions of this madness.
But I merely sat,
The pain numbing into complacency
Because — just for a moment —
I was freed from the tyranny of thought.