Pain

More faithful
than lover or husband
it cleaves to you,
calling itself by your name
as if there had been a ceremony.

At night you turn and turn
searching for the one
bearable position,
but though you may finally sleep
it wakens ahead of you.

How heavy it is,
displacing with its volume
your very breath.
Before, you seemed to weigh nothing,
your arms might have been wings.

Now each finger adds its measure;
you are pulled down by the weight
of your own hair.
And if your life should disappear ahead of you
you would not run after it.

[ Previous Poem | Menu | Next Poem ]