dark water
A poem.
The following poem was originally published in OVEN RED EVENINGS, my self-published poetry collection released in 2016. The poem was drafted between 2013 and 2014.
—
I got to thinking last night,
after my heart fell out of rhythm
like a freight train off its tracks,
that I'm not the man I used to be,
the man I thought I would become.
& now outside my window headlights dance
in luminescent slashes up & down the smoke-stained pane,
& I sit up sharply, hands pawing at my chest
to see if the answers to all my questions
course through my veins. you're just nuts,
I tell myself, you're losing it.
my lips feel dry, sand dry.
you’re losing it, I tell myself again.
I lower my head down onto the pillow
& the coolness of the cloth
laps like dark water against my ears.
as I lie there I wonder if there's truth
in the weakness of my bones,
the stumbles of the beat in my chest.
I sit up, feeling cold against the sweaty sheets.
I look to the empty glass on the bed-side table,
water drained in panic two hours before.
more cars slip by outside the window,
casting flashes, light edges,
the same, the same, the same.
what I fear is that I'll lose everything,
all at once, my eyes unable to grasp light,
my ears unable to welcome sound.
--
now I'm in the living room
& attempting to express myself on paper.
I think back to a young couple on a bus five years ago,
two ponchos wrapped in one another,
their heads too full with love & the now
to see the looks on the faces around them.
I wonder if they're still together
as I dash two pills down my throat
& feel their weight sag into my chest.
the clock on the wall grows older.
my love is asleep in the next room,
an intimate ridge in dark sheets,
blood-warm, a rhythm you can breathe with.
I should sleep,
but first I need to finish writing this down:
enjoy it, all of it.
don't let the sparks of panic in your veins
make you afraid to keep running.
a heartbeat's too quick for that.
I set the pen on the table, unsure if this is enough.
a cat laces his form through my legs
& I bend to scratch his spine.
then my heart jumps, once, twice
before it settles on its jagged path.
when I'm back in bed I breathe slowly,
lying on my side, arm slung over her,
hands webbed in the darkness.
my thoughts are still there,
rattling like teeth in a soup can,
but they're fading now,
falling to the floor
one by one.
& here,
for tonight at least,
I can stop writing
this endless poem
& go to sleep.