ozarque (ozarque) wrote,

This journal has been placed in memorial status. New entries cannot be posted to it.

Poem; "Mindstorm"; seventh draft...


Inside my mind,
-- all of them --
are tightly linked
to my son's death.

Inside my mind,
the lightning strikes me.
Inside my mind,
the thunder
rolls over me.

Michael died in a weathertime
of storm after storm after storm.
Day after day, night after night,
the thunderstorms never let up.
And then the first morning of the auction
to sell his tools and his machines,
there was a ferocious fierce storm. Again.
But the auction went right on,
right through that storm,
as if it didn't matter at all.
I can still see and still hear that storm
that started off the auction
of my son's most treasured belongings.

And now every prediction of storms,
every day of gloom and threatening clouds,
sets me shaking.
Stormy weather
is a swallowed fishhook
inside my mind.

I don't know a way to
break the link.
I write to find a way to
break the link.
Tags: poem
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