There’s a crack
In the third floor window
I bet the glass will break
Not with the current
Occupant
But with the next one
Or the one after that
I bet when the glass breaks
It’ll be night
But it’ll be quiet
And the cicadas will be keeping
Somebody
Wide awake
The kind of awake
Where you’re not sure
You’re awake
Until you realize you’re looking up
At the sly splinters of glass
That’ll go out into the air
Once a nice breeze
Hits the tree
Near the window
A little too hard
And gives the glass
That last push it needs
To obliterate
I’d like to push
On that window
I’d like to be the thing
That gives it
What it needs
To be destroyed
I’d like to be
The limb of the tree
I’d like to be the breeze
And the sound
Of the cicadas
And the crack in the glass
That started it
On its way
I’d like to be next to you
Late at night
When you’re awake
Thinking you’re asleep
Finding you there
Trapped in bed
Thinking you’re free
Wanting to dream
Unable to summon up
Even a nightmare
I’d sit by you
I’d comfort you
I’d feel the anxiety
The tension
As you wait
For the break
To happen
Not sure where it’ll be
Not sure what will be
The benevolent push
The nick of the knife
The tightening of a rope
The prick of broken glass
When it lands
All over a room
Knowing the room
Is destroyed
The way the window is
The way the house is
The way your memory
Of the night is
Of what you think
Reality is
The other side of the coin
Is a place
Where you live in a house
That is so much smaller
And a bed that is far less comfortable
But do we ever
Sleep
In dreams?
Do those parts of ourselves
Those fragile parts
Never need
To lie down
And wait
For the break that comes
In our quietest moments?
Do the parts
That seem like the other
Ever shake themselves awake
And demand to know
Who’s pressing on the glass?
And what if the glass
Never breaks?
What if the wind
And the sounds
And the quiet
That throbs
Like starvation
Just goes on
And on
And is never enough
To bring us
To the next part
Of what we hope
Will never happen
And need
To happen
Right
Now
No comments:
Post a Comment