Sunday, October 12, 2014

a poem about madness

are you as crazy as you sound ?

perhaps, If I  were crazed enough to answer all your questions, darling 

(in case you are wondering, yes, les enfants s'ennuient le dimanche at home, so we jump around a bit) 

I say, “I don’t like to be touched”
She says, “Your skin can’t remember
shit like that, you’re making it worse
by thinking about it”
but she’s itching her forearms and
I picture her imagining bugs
I say, “Even when I forget it happened,
my chest still burns in the shower”

I say, “Maybe water makes it hurt”
I say, “Maybe I’m just allergic to the soap
I use”
I don’t mention how he left his shirt
on in the shower, white and drenched
and sagging,
I don’t mention how he insisted
on washing my hair
She says, “Don’t be stupid”
and I wonder if this means
she doesn’t understand
I say, “Please don’t look too hard
at my body. I think he might have
left imprints of his hands.
I’m dry cement and winter makes
the cracks worse”
She says, “It’s been four years”
and I nod
I say, “I saw him at a party last night.
I think he tried to smile at me but
I couldn’t stand to see his teeth”
She says, “He really did a number on
you, huh?”
and I wonder if she’s even just a little
bit jealous,
because she wish she had the power
to matter that much,
and I wonder if she’s mad because
I refuse to let her,
I say, “I lost count”


Rick Forrestal said...

It's OK to let madness take hold . . . it's even healthy.

Just not all the time.

Setty Lepida said...

You are so right my darling Rick. I don't allow for madness I'm afraid, not any more, but every now and then I have to go back and check up. The Pap test of sanity. :)