The child did not have the word
for sick, but she reached up and touched
her mother’s face
from time to time
and felt along the jawline
and the craters in her cheeks,
felt where emptiness now was,
and thought, in the way only children can,
that something is different.
Not bad, not fantastic–
Creatures of habit:
Deviation = Catastrophe
No part of us should be allowed to leave.
It feels right when we add to ourselves,
but when we subtract?
Have you noticed when the overweight
shed pounds we tell them to their face
they look spectacular, and behind their backs
we ponder their illnesses. Autoimmune? Cancer?
His father was a schizophrenic.
After the divorce I anticipated happily
the new life I’d lead sp
But that reality collapsed.
My parents still take vacations together
and massage each other’s hands with lotion,
and I fear they are closer now in hate
than they ever were in love.
Change, though. That is what I wanted,
what I was denied.
Everything is everything,
and I wish that for the sake of sanity
I think of that child now,
the one who felt her mother’s
hollow face. She will one day
be an adult, waiting someplace
in one of the world’s infinite
What is wrong with me?
It is precisely what she
ever learn, because nothing
is a concept unbearable;
you cannot teach
emptiness; but you can
feel it to the bone.
Written at 10:35 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.