How April!

 

Surreal, how April is autism and poetry month, how poetic really,

Surreal, too, I imagine, how it must be to be autistic, or poetic, maybe both. I watch fish in a tank, imagine how one can only get so close to being a fish if one is not a fish.  I try imagining myself as a fish inside the tank looking out, trying to figure out why the family is rushing past, or what’s a family? I imagine myself saying, as a fish. 

Outside looking in, inside looking out.

Every morning my six-year-old son and I “swim” to our car, get into our “submarine.” We putter past imaginary blow fish near the mailbox.

“Pink reefs over there!” I say to my son. 


Today we saw a spotted blue whale with cute spotted blue whale babies over a glen plaid hill, shrieked at too close sharks chasing us to school before the first bell.

I imagine myself painting the painting at home and someone buying the painting.

“How nice,” I imagine I say to my son when I’m done, “someone bought the painting of our family, the picture now hangs on someone’s family room wall (maybe over a fish tank).

Surreal how April is autism and poetry month.

 

Afraid to Live, Afraid to Die

Afraid to live, afraid to die.

Afraid to live, afraid, afraid, afraid.

A too close fog horn sound fogging my ears,

a thunder drumming war drums drumming me,

get up, get out, go get getting, live, live, live,

begging, springing me to action, away from the itch to fear, gripping the news,

killing me mort, like a done for, afraid, a done for, in these rooms.

Yet, all of us now, still alive, a-murmur-mur-mur-murring,

a-purpurring, still alive, are still alive I say, still a-living.  But not like a-living living like still life fruit in a bowl, flowers spent already, all lived out.  A living it up kind of living, over here, over there, a life lived out to fullness, I’m just a-beginning everyday, halfway or not.  Not, not and not afraid to die.

Hold On World

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Hold on, don’t jump, slow down world, let me brush your wild hair, let me brush your teeth, let me gag you so I can skid the house, the world quiet.

A knot of candy hair hit, and off he soars, reeling.

What was between hands now all run away.

The whole world foaming at the mouth, unkempt, unclean, half-dressed, half-naked, in knots.

My own tiny world too dammed up, too damned behind thin skin, thin heart membranes, too thin protections.

Ahhhh, I sigh, I weep, for him, for her, for Boston, for the ache within, for the lost souls, for our innocence ebbing,

Ahhhh, I breath, ohmming for the unfeeling, ohmming for the feeling too much, ohmming for the breaking inside, for the too much that got’s a hold of the world at the minute, a hold on me.

Wait for me world, wait one minute more,

hold me world, hold on lover world, hold on lover boy, lover world, hold on and wait, wait, wait, hold on with me,

and I will hold you too.

It gets better, got to get better, wait with me world, and let’s just breathe.

Breathe an I’m-not-done-yet-breath, a-neither-are-you-breath, neither of us licked,

holding on together breathing, each of us warming the air between us,

holding on, lighting candles, breathing, holding, waiting.

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