Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note
Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus. . .
Things have come to that.
And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.
Nobody sings anymore.
And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter's room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there. . .
Only she on her knees peeking into
Her own clasped hands
This is one of my favorite poems and it's resonating with me right now. There is a story of hope in there, even though the title has the word suicide in it. I could go on, but I won't. I just wanted to share some art with you. :)