ART || poetry.

Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note

Amiri Baraka

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

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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. :)