While Dancing On The Head Of A Pin
i would whisper to them that i understood,
filled with tears and abject misery, talking to the
dead. i knew then what i understood, but i don't
"i know," i'd say repeatedly.
now i don't. i must have buried it with the stuff i
couldn't deal with. the stuff that would have made
it impossible for me to work and support myself. i
needed to work. there was no Bruce to fall back
on. there was no one. there was only me.
lately i feel as if it's on the tip of my tongue, this thing i knew.
sometimes in the middle of a nightmare i am able to relax and
find safety. sometimes.
i remember when i couldn't sleep more than an hour at a time.
then it was 2 hours before the dreams came. then i had a dream
that put the nightmares to rest for days at a time. the green grass,
the black woman singing in a clear, strong voice words i didn't
understand to music i had heard before, but couldn't name.
now, trying to deal with the things i wasn't able to deal with then,
i really miss those dead relatives who gathered above my head
in that closet on W. Thoman street.
maybe someday i will.
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