I am still in a ball on the floor. I have never left. As much as I tried and tried to melt into the carpet and flow into the earth.
And the notes that played on the piano are played in a sequence, and it follows a tempo.
I make a sad melody. And there is a math to this…
I am still afraid of losing someone else.
Because no matter what is likely to happen, in my mind I have calculated the worst possible scenario so that maybe this time it won’t be as bad.
I am still breathing.
I am still missing my son. I am still trying to figure it out.
I watch the growing clouds a thunderhead rises above the ridge. And I wait for that storm to reach us.
I am still wondering what my life would be like… without that day. Calculating where my son would be and what he would be doing… and computing the effects his restored life would have on everything else.
Either I can see him or hear him in everything and everywhere… or I can’t remember anything about him and it is like I lost him all over again.
It never goes away. And I am still running through it in my mind.
I am still broken. And I can still feel his pain in the night.
And the frogs have not stopped calling. So the rain is a ways off… it is in the forecast.
I have broken something else and I find blood on my face for no reason. And even though I can’t see through the fog all time, I am still.
The truth is staying in motion seems to keep the edge off. So I am always busy and never still. I set goals and make lists and I calculate… doing things. Doing things.
And there is a rhythm and time signature and key signature and a set of chords that I am familiar with. There is a math to this… a relative minor, a tonic, a fourth. And it generates a simple melody. I melt into the music and let the lyrics sink into my soul.
And so I mix paint like I am trying to make a place to visit.
But I am still running up loose earth on a hill that keeps sliding under my feet.
I paint the canvas like this will make it work.
I still wash the brushes and no matter how much I tell myself to leave the edges loose… I paint in those details and let them melt into the canvas.
I am still learning.
And so I write a poem like I am trying to listen
And I calculate how it will communicate that one bit of feeling.
It trails off… into the distance. Into memory.
I am still melting into the earth like the hail from a summer thunderstorm.
I am still in a ball on the floor.
I am still wanting.
I am still sad.
I am still.