Thursday, June 8, 2017

June 8: Self Pity, Kazim Ali, "Dear J."

Some days, I don't know who I am.

Last night, I was a son of a bitch.  Grouchy.  Tired.  Sad.  I snapped at my eight-year-old son for dragging his feet about going to bed.  I got pissed at my daughter for losing a mechanical pencil I gave her to do homework.  I was a terrible person.

I was going to say, "That wasn't me."  But it was.  It was all me.  I am struggling this early summer.  I am feeling down and a little sorry for myself.  Self pity is not an attractive character trait.

I have been alone for most of the afternoon now.  I've graded some of my students' discussion responses, and I've written two blog posts.  I am feeling more human.  I don't know why.

Perhaps Saint Marty needed to give himself a time out.

Dear J.

by:  Kazim Ali

It should be a letter
To the man inside
I could not become
Dressed in yellow
And green, the colors of spring
So I could leave death
In its chamber veined
With deep ore
I've no more to tell you
Last winter I climbed
The mountains of Musoorie
To hear frozen peals of bell and wire
A silver thread of sound
Sky to navel
Draws me
like the black strip
in a flower's throat
meant to guide you in
I lie now in the winter
open-petaled beneath Sirius
I cereus bloom


1 comment:

  1. Now more than ever it's important to unplug and take some alone time. Maybe watch a youtube video of oompa loompas singing, because we now live in a very surreal world.

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