Thursday, June 30, 2011

You are predictable and incomprehensible like
Stephen Harper's Christmas sweaters,
banal smiles and Alberta French;
you are meant to practice but not understand
strategic voting and habituation.
I'm going to get better, Caelum, she said,
and by the time I stopped crying it was January.
She died. (You might not know this; junkies die.)
Or I could breathe --
adrenaline, endorphins, and fresh air.


*

6 comments:

heartinsanfrancisco said...

I'm so sorry for your continuing pain.

mischief said...

Susan, I'm not in continuing pain. Not really, but I am thankful, truly, for that sentiment. I appreciate the concern very much. But I'm not suffering. I'm just thinking.
~L

Anonymous said...

This makes me want to play piggies with your toes.

It's an absurd reaction.

I think it means I just want to make the hard parts go away.

I want us to go outside under a big tree and line up acorns. We'll form them into a big square and while we're inside the square we're as safe as can be. So I play with your toes.

Life doesn't really work like that. That's why we have pretend.

Jerry said...

Working your way through the mist.

I'll follow you.

secret agent woman said...

I'm baffled, but it sounds like you're processing.

mischief said...

Thank you Jerry. I like it when you come along.

Secret agent, processing is right. Lots of it is nonsense, I know.