wordless

my secret is:
when I am in pain
heartbroken
cast up on a dry shore
or otherwise disappointed

I hide.
I bury the bits that bleed
under logs
on high shelves
in letters sent to people I don't know

and forget them.

I package up each of my greviances
in little bundles
wrapped in seaweed like sushi
popped into bottles and corked

and hide them or throw them into the Sound.

the problem with this is that they gnaw themselves free.

I become dry-mouthed and inarticulate
all of the things I cannot say lodging themselves
in the vicinity of my tonsils
curling around my throat
their eyes glittering angry and vengeful.

my secret is that I think of my anger as something other than myself.

I become short with people,
intolerant of intrusion
unfocused and unreliable
short-tempered and snappish
secretive and shy.

I lurk in dark corners and absentmindedly lick the blood from my hands.

I mistrust unlocked doors
and lights where there should be darkness.
I mistrust the easy way out

and I forget that I have a capacity for forgiveness.

***

my secret is:
I only want the unasked-for
things given out of a gladness of heart
not doled out, one by one, in response to requests

I want the wholeness of heart
that comes from loving entire

or else the mountaintop
and the sharp-edged wind.

in this
there are no compromises
no secondhand threadbare blankets of hope

my secret is
that greviances thrown in the ocean
always blow back to shore.
and I am always surprised.

--6/27/01

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