forty one

This is not applause for my sadness,

These words about broken downs cars

And cancer-soaked houses and the way

Things used to be before the earth turned.

This is simply the fact of life:

That mom is sick and she’s not getting well,

I guess Dad is stressed and he won’t admit it,

My best friend is dating and I feel alone sometimes.

And sometimes, the world turns faster when I glance behind me

Than when I keep my eyes on the road.

Does it make sense to you?

Does it baffle your being so as to upset your stomach?

I guess that mine is weak.

I would like to explain to you why I write,

As this is not meaningless rambling

And not consolation for my sins, because

It only ever does half the job.

I write because my life depends on it.

The pain intertwined in my shoelaces

Is perpetually too much,

And I hear beautiful things

Just to feel compelled to create,

And though better is a concept I haven’t quite grasped,

Maybe halfway better will suffice as good enough

For a split second.

The earth freezes under ink, haven’t you heard?

It seems that mom has frozen too.

It seems that dad has frozen too.

Now what’s left but applause for the things they will miss?

I promise I’ll miss them more.