&c. posted at 12/07/2011 10:23:00 PM
nevada wind
i’m twenty-two and in love with you.
every week the doctor wonders why i
stick, why i’m sick—“i love him, that’s what”
i want to tell the shrink with the bravado of steeled
kids who grew up way too early, sneaking
out and sneaking pills, drinking wine in their beds
while their parents sleep.
no such luck.
the doctor knows i wake up in the morning
feeling like i gambled my last quarter
in the hopes of winning yahtzee, knows
i stir my coffee with the dejection
of a man slumped outside a vegas curb.
i feel your resentment kicking up
my chin like nevada dust. i wail
to the wind, imploring, “i love you,
i love you—” and dust devil
that you are, you
fly close, stinging
like warm tears on the edge
of a defiant eye, scratches
from too tight hugs. you walk by
with an indifference reserved only
for dust storms during my soft sadnesses;
the kerplunk of the last coin shot
into the hopeless coin slot reverberating.
times like these, i remember:
the native americans, how badly
they wished to be like the wind.
(crossposted from my poetry journal)
****
It's 10 in the evening and I'm waiting with bated breath. I finally finished this poem from last month, and I've decided to complete a collection of poetry about doctors, hospitals, tragedies and shrinks. It must be ten poems. Let's see if the IYAS workshop in Bacolod will take this one--it's the last I have to take to complete the national workshops, so it'll be a blast. Hopefully I become good enough for a Palanca.
I still miss my partner, why does his work have to be so retarded about time--but anyway I'm wondering if I should distract myself with writing a piece about a heroine addict. It's been in my head all day, but I'm just wary that if I start writing it, I'll be annoyed because I won't make much progress, or I'll miss the time when I'm supposed to be fetching my partner.
And hey, I'd rather be doing that than writing a sad sob story.
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