I go out to the mail box
barefoot,
Glad to feel something solid beneath me.
The sun is holding court
in an iridescent blue sky—
Even though it seemed
earlier
that the day would bring
only rain.
I am glad, but not happy.
I almost cry
writing this
when I realize
just how much
is solid
underneath
my steps
-Is hard, Is sure, Is firmwhen
I am looking for a place
to be safe.
I hate
being at war with myself,
with what is not myself.
I want the luxury not to have
to fight
what is base in me;
Not to scowl at my
image in the mirror;
Not to have to force the
feeling out of my eyes,
quench the soul to satiate the flesh.
Sick of personal pronouns,
of all my moods
wearing me down,
of energy that crashes faster than it fuels.
emotion feels
so
close
to the surface.
tears.
But this is only a moment,
the plop of a stone in
water.
Soon
It will be over and only the ripples
of my response
remain