Alarmed at about how relieving I found,
in the kitchen, the dream of driving
the skinny knife through my neck
(toothpick through a sausage)—
even the “Uh oh! No! Undo...”
and warm choking on
blood-spill through airways,
blip-blipping down a blue sweater,
slipping under a warm shirt,
beading in my belly button,
pooling on the floor,
lightheaded falling into that pool—
But really, I just wanted to eat,
enjoy a state holiday afternoon without work.
So I asked myself,
Not at all a therapist, “Where does this self-harm dream start?”
Mm, wanting to escape? “Escape what.” Loneliness.
“Say more”
I feel not connected...
“Well then, DEFINITELY
eat your lunch outside today.”
Okay! That was easy
(I’m such a good therapist)
I go outside:
neighbors are walking Morrison
(8months old—not puppy... not dog...)
“My buddy!”
I say,
and set down my plate/cup on the porch slab
without even asking 'may-I.'
Then he sits “Good sit!”
Good sit, his moms say too.
He shoulder-melts down to one side,
rolls belly up (little skyward sausage)
“Awe, my buddy”
I start petting him.
I can feel his energy amping, so I bring mine low:
“I get excited, too” I tell him—
I don’t want to die.
I want the world to rub my ears
And brush hands over my
half-closed eyes
forever
or as long
as you
can stay
The moment I finished the poem, I knew I was going to have something to say about it. I sat at my desk in awe for a few minutes thinking, “wow, I’m really feeling something. I’m feeling something very strongly,” but I could not figure out what exactly it was.
ReplyDeleteSomething about this poem radiated genuinity, and it drew me in with the comparison of your neck and the dog, or maybe the self-harm dream and the dog’s enthusiasm, or it could have been the line “I get excited, too.” It made me a little bit sad. Not in a hopeless, despairing sort of way, but in a longing, hopeful way, where I felt like I was close to stepping out into the sun after too long in the shade. It was warm and comforting.
Sometimes, life gets monotonous and I forget to actively seek out enjoyment, which leaves me in a cycle of boredom and restlessness. Imagining something happening to me, even if that something is terrible, is better than nothing, and I think it is very easy to trap yourself in that mindset—that “at least it’s something” mindset. The reason I find this poem so touching is that it addresses that desperate longing for catharsis while also providing an explanation: I get excited, and what I really want is not to die, but to live a life full of love and warmth. Sometimes, you just need to pet a dog.
Sometimes you just need to pet a dog.
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