Sprung

So you sit and think and try to
Answer but draw a blank. You
Walk out into the Winter air
Ashamed for not knowing
What is wrong or what to do.

The chill flattens the fields
And ranges of the heart; seals
The ground tough as a callous
Until every step is the same and
The world has you well-heeled.

Ice drips and sloughs off, snows melt
And faces turn to see if how you felt
Has changed; as if you've got a
New shirt, a haircut, new pants
That hold to your waist with a new leather belt.

But you haven't changed. You're still
The same. You know they've had their fill
Of asking and walking away without
Answers you've never had; that you're
Afraid to admit you might never will.

So you find yourself alone there
Typing, windows open to the warming air
When it arrives--the smell of the first
Spring rain crawling its way into the room.
Your eyes well up and you can't leave your chair

Because this is it. The answer is the smell
Of rain, of impending clouds, of the hell
Of anxieties you had when you were small.
The sweet and the rot and the day you knew
You were not, nor would you ever be, well.

But no one who loves you can share
The moment. None of them are there
For you to finally explain to and hope
At last what it means so they can find
A reason not to give up. An excuse to care.

It isn't about hurt. It's not about pain
Or keying a lock or bleaching a stain:
If you need to know what or how or why,
Just crack a window or step outside and
Lose yourself in the smell of the spring's first rain.





Sorry I haven't been writing lately. I'm going to try to get a little better about it. Have a good weekend. Go Hoyas.