There are consequences to living.
The consequences include but are not limited to the remembering of the moments in which you became someone else: the doctor’s office, the dining room when you were 16 years old, the last glance at your childhood home (which is to say your last glance at home), his house, two days ago, the hospital room, the we-can-do-nothing-else speech, the emergence of someone from their prison cell.
The consequence for living includes and is limited to dying.
The consequence of living are the tears running down your face while you’re at work and you don’t want anyone to see you but everyone is just outside the door and closing in.
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5 comments
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May 21, 2009 at 8:43 pm
Patrice
I was here a few days ago – and your words so moved me that I could not respond.
I can only say – no – I must say: there is genius here. You have an amazing ability to take me (the reader) right out of myself and place me right there, right there wherever you want me to be, to feel, to know.
I’ve been a fan for a while now – but admiration is too mundane a term for the intensity of my impressions after these last few posts.
It’s veneration – yeah, veneration… you are so honest and your gifts so rare.
May 21, 2009 at 9:15 pm
Paul
Sunrises, children laughing, enormous hugs, unexpected tiny gratitudes, perfect cup of coffee, life has many consequences.
May 22, 2009 at 9:10 am
Jade
I totally agree with Patrice. You make your audience feel like they have experienced it, you move them to think more about their lives, you make them feel you. You are a very talented artist. This poem is moving.
May 22, 2009 at 12:47 pm
medicatedlady
Patrice…I don’t even know what to say. I don’t think I deserve your too kind words but I appreciate them more than you can ever know.
May 22, 2009 at 12:48 pm
medicatedlady
Paul: don’t sass me.