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
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.
ReplyDeleteJust discovered this poem today. "I cereus bloom" is such an odd phrase but I dig it. Cant' help but think of Leopold Bloom, such are the fables of self-awareness and dramatic journeys we undertake on a daily basis. All the greens are bleeding out in northern California as the last rain was a few weeks ago. The Golden State glows from it's cereus coat waving from uptick in ocean breezes felt far inland.
ReplyDelete