Poems

By Jay

September

The window shut, just like that
and Summer was gone
its scents and sleeping blackberries
awoke to the wind and falling leaves
combed, over and over,
tawny and crumpled.

Like Ophelia, I dream,
gentle crucifixion,
water for blood
and lilies for sleep.

Down the winding stream,
Autumn and hardest Winter,
I shall arrive,
smiling.

I’ll go on, when faces harden,
bodies stoop from rain and snow,
darkness follows like an endless wall,
hope is found in bright crevices
flowers that break out
loud keys of daffodils
daisies, dandelions and gurgling fountain
and, on the shoulder,
once again, the sun shall lay its hand.

I will not start
from that bold touch,
from the embrace
the unveiling and the awoken folk.
I won’t be dazzled by the high flags of the sky,
or be imprisoned by the fallen walls, unmarked days.

I’ll keep drifting, like Ophelia,
a smile on my face
and no fear in my heart
for what I cannot see.

7 September, 2017

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Almost There

By Cherry Northern

Recently, I did something that I thought was going to be helpful for me. I actually booked a therapy appointment with a licensed social worker and the interaction would have been wholly online. It would have been a live chat room session. I would have discussed . . . things. Topics that float around in my head on the daily. Issues that have been keeping me stuck in life.

And one day before this appointment, I canceled the chat. I canceled my membership. I left a brief message to my would-be therapist. I was honest and told her that I wasn’t ready. To me, therapy through this method felt like exploring a dark cave with very little light. There was no way to know what to expect. Questions like, “Where do I even start?” filled my mind with dread and anxiety. So, I did what I do most of the time. I gave up and let fear win.

I feel so ashamed of myself. It’s a whole mix of emotions. There’s anger and low self-esteem. There’s hopelessness to keep me company. There’s fear that I’ve pissed my would-be therapist off. Then there’s the scary question of “Would this have truly helped me anyway?” I mean, how willing would I be to change my life for the better? Because, certainly, I feel like I would have had to do some homework, some deep drilling into my head to figure out the nature of my predicaments. To me, therapy is a great mystery. And that frightens me.

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