Words

I lie in bed
with my right arm crossed
over my waist, squeezing my ribs
with my hand to try to stop
my hand from shaking.
It won't stop.
I've been weeping, but I stopped
before it got to the point where it feels
like pieces of my throat are ripping out.
I lie calmly,
but all that grief must go somewhere.
It's gone into my hand and
my hand won't stop shaking.

My hand won't stop shaking
until I start using it to shape words,
to shape my world,
to find my way
along this darkened tunnel.
I feel roots and
my hands remind me
there is life here.
There is life here.

I said I wanted to meet people
who take risks because
being alive is more important than being safe
and even if it hurts, it's worth the cost.
I want to meet those people
because I am those people, but I'm remembering,
right now,
why most people choose
not to be alive like this.
I'm paying, dear god am I paying.
It's just been too much all at once,
too much living, too much loving and
all of it followed by way too much dying.

I am loving you and holding you as best I can,
he said. I am here for you, he (a different he) said.
I wish I could offer you more, he (yet another he) said.
You give me hope, he said,
you have been a key.
I'm sorry, he said.

He said and he said and they said
and I lie in my bed with my right arm
crossed over my waist,
squeezing my ribs to stop
my hand from shaking because
there is more grief in me
than my body can contain
and I'm scared,
I'm terrified that it's going to break me
in a way I won't be able to fix
if I let it out,
but I know damn well that
it will surely break me
if I keep it in.

So, I crawl in the darkness
and I feel for the light.
I reach for this magic window that somehow
lets us all see each other and
I teach my hands the way to feel my words
and I write my feet firm.
I write my bones solid.
I write my head up, eyes seeking future.
I write my heart strong.
I write phloem and I write roots
and my hands remind me there is life here,
life which wills to live.

I am life which wills to live.
This is joy,
life being alive, and sometimes that also feels
like pieces of my throat are ripping out
just because I am too small
to contain within my frame
all that moves through me.

I am joy manifested.

2007

Thoughts and Comments

Performed this in the first round at the March 2007 Eugene Poetry Slam. I wrote it the night before as a blog post on MySpace. That's unusual, but it worked this time.