ours
Moving forward there will be nights
when the hair on my arms will stand
for nothing
for no reason,
when I will enter the room like a bear
whose own thoughts hibernate in a field of bear traps
through a long winter.
This is the cave I retreat to in solace
in the dark
when there simply are no words
and the only sentences I can conjure
are punctuated with fish hooks
disguised as question marks;
I soon know I’ve been caught
with the wishful wind of my breath
visible in the cold air, escaping.
I know it when I feel it.
In my chest.
Climbing my spine
like a ghost in a bell tower.
Ours is a cave suspended in silence
that I came to in disbelief
stuttering for syllables when
there are no answers that’ll satisfy
and I don’t know what I'm trying to say
so I retreat to the cave walls
with numb tongue and finger paints.
Ours is a eulogy made of hieroglyphics
drawn with tattoo ink and tears
so that I might muscle memory remember
with purpose
and reason
that there is purpose and reason.
When at last the long winter thaws
I turn to the mouth of the cave
wide as a smile
in the light
knowing I took it for granted
the warmth.
When I felt it.
In my chest.
Like the purr of a homemade go-cart.
Ours is a cave I will return to many times.
When there simply are no words.
When the knot in my throat
ties my breath to an anchor
I can not pronounce nor digest.
Moving forward there will be days.
When I will enter the room like a bear.
12/4/2014