|Oct/Nov 2011 Poetry|
Mosaic artwork by Laura Robbins
I was in the middle of the divorce
when a stranger walked in
and took my place.
At first I was disoriented,
after all this was my pain,
my loss. But the more I watched her
the more relieved I was.
She made all the stupid concessions
I always had, so I left her alone.
My husband, or should I say ex,
never noticed the difference.
I found this a bit perturbing,
but now I was free, and that life
belongs to somebody else.
My anger is a yellow school bus
going over a cliff.
There’s no stopping the momentum
once it’s in motion.
Yesterday it was a shotgun
blasting birds from the sky.
The same birds I put out
feeders for, that I can lose myself in.
My childhood was a push down the stairs
from my father, my mother standing by
silently, not trying to pick up the teeth,
rub ointment on the jaws.
Where did my brother buy the gun
he used to kill himself?
Did they ask him any questions?
Did they ignore the answers?
Anger is the mountain spring
my self gushed out from.
When I skydive, anger is
the parachute I hang from.