Walk on the Beach
Sometimes when it seems I can’t go on,
I press my face to the cold window
and imagine all the bright glittering pebbles
on the sea shore
that one day soon I may pick up
and clutch to my chest
so that the hole won’t feel quite so big.
Someone told me “it gets better”
But her words tasted sour,
Too much like a chalky white tablet I’d have to swallow
(to kill the pain?)
For now I scour out my frustration
in my sketchbook
by scraping, etching, carving
And wet, shining spit-and-ink poems
That are too broken-winged ever to fly.
I fell down the stairs once
and scraped my hands and knees.
Dipped my toes in the infinite sea, don’t you know.
I thought I’d fall in for sure,
but I managed to topple backwards onto the sand
So that I might still pick up the pebbles of hope.