Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Poem #733


Big
I
slip into my
favorite, big sweater.
Swimming through the sea
of dark wool, fighting my way
toward the surface, toward fresh air.
Tussling with the vast quantity of emptiness
that takes up its residence within, I fumble about,
searching for an escape, an exit, a way out of this mess.
The air becomes warm; the heat pounds at my head, my lungs,
keeping time with the rapidly quickening dirge of my heart, and
just when I feel as if I have come very near drowning, my head,
my arms, break through the surface, rejoining the world,
and my lungs are sated with a cool, calm freshness.
The sweater hangs down, draped callously
over my bones, and I am still swimming
in a vast expanse, fully cloaked in
unrelenting heaviness. And yet,
My world shrinks around me,
And I feel constricted.
So much room,
but I feel
tiny.

No comments:

Post a Comment