Surfacing

I am drawn to drownings.

Intrigued by hangings.

The oriole may land on the gallows pole,

And no one accuses her of being macabre.

The red winged Blackbird may cling to the cat tails by the misted pond in the morning,

And no one suggests

She should not have perched there, singing to the silent girl in the water.

Suicide is not the answer to every problem,

Nor is fire,

Nor is sleep.

There are even those who will tell you that if you simply remain still and wait,

That the earth and sky will move,

Beneath and above you,

Bringing change while you dream that she is there again,

Leaning to kiss you,

Consuming you like the curtains and the crossbeams

As part of you stops fighting and lets go...

It is like birds startled by a gunshot,

Isn't it,

When you wake up gasping and know that she hasn't killed you

After all.

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