Clockwise
Just as storms you almost went shopping for
/ unwanted glances that you tried to “act normal,
breathe in, smile back” and
(cellphone) alarms you set earlier/ because
you hoped to be stronger and better/
but knew your comfort zone, and when
it’d be exited-
That sinking feeling returns.
And even though your coping mechanism is
not as fresh as much oiled wheel it could be-
It’s not completely inept.
You are not standing utterly still (because you know
squeaky wheels don’t go far.)
And you’ve been told “a closed mouth
doesn’t get fed.”
Even though the speaker knows/ your face
chances when there’s a promise
of dinner- Uncomplicated, portioned
and fair for all.
That sinking feeling-
A brandishing cloak of helplessness-
Going somewhere on the interstate/
and this familiar road becomes crowded.
And 3 dollars in your pocket,
you have to exit because your tank
is on “E.”
Or when yearning – And promised to be
fed – That promise is never kept
and you go hungry but pay for
what you ordered- Because somehow
you ordered this.-
Because you opened up.
That sinking feeling-
the helpless, exorbitant nothing
you could do-
The moment you did everything you could-
You’ve said your prayers,
and laid out tomorrow’s plan
and set the alarm.
But the power goes out,
and you’ve over slept
because the alarm never sounded
even though you set the
trap yourself.
Clockwise, you rotate
the stages of grief.
hoping to
eventually reach
the happy hours.
(CAK 11-12-12)
artfully done ,