Monday, May 31, 2010

the art of being a cucumber

I went to a party filled with leftist organizers
who consider themselves radicals
and work with veterans
though none of them have been to war

"I heard" she tells me
"Me too, I just heard five minutes ago,"
the other tells me
and I'm wondering just who the fuck is doing all this talking?

we get on the subject of ptsd
because they are all now experts
having worked with people suffering from ptsd
and she tells me about some exercises that will help me calm down

and i want to tell her that i'm cool
cool as a cucumber
and that actually this is the first time in my life
where i have just listened to myself and done exactly that

and if i need to cry, i do
and if i need to say no, i do
and if i need to freak the fuck out, i do
and if i need to be calm, i do.

there is always this part of me
afraid to stew in it
wanting everyone to tell me how strong i am
as i tuck away my own narrative and tell it as if it were someone else's.

but not this chapter
this one won't let me close it and just move on
it has a hold on me
one on each ankle.

and perhaps this hold ain't so bad
since the rug is gone
and all the furniture is upside down
and the ceiling is broken.

and all that should have been felt
is now being felt
and i am remembering myself as a little girl
who played her part ever so diligently

but now the show is mine
the narrative before me
the pages blank
and i'm looking for some new lines.

1 comment:

Carmen said...

i love your writing tony, and you