Dead End Street
Once, when I was young – another writer,
A poet and poetry lover, someone undiscovered…
She (it could have been he since I only knew
Pen names that faded from my memory once
The words had left their imagery)…
Anyway, she or he… told me that my poetry,
Yes, MY POETRY, the words that I wrote,
The little flawed victims of my heart, my soul,
Thoughts that were sometimes fleeting –
And, other times, like some leech settling in
Around my life, overwhelmed by the letters,
The rhymes, the rhythms that felt like liquid laughter,
Kissing away the shadows that clung to my mind –
She or he – told me that my poetry reminded them
Of Plath! The one and only… Sylvia Plath..
It felt like a death sentence in a way, but I learned to listen
To the memory like it was one heartbeat away from
Losing its hold on me, the memory has no real power –
It loses its ability to tempt and torture, its gift for doubt
Its capacity and urgency, blaming the winds of autumn,
The sing song sounds of spring, the melancholic mist of winter,
The ache of summer plays in trembling octaves of verse –
While I remember…
Her suicide and then, years past that poet’s pointed clue
Finding out I was bipolar and knowing what it is…
Feeling crazy, like a druggie or – the woodpecker must…
Feel the crazy that comes from thumping away at that oak,
Striking it again and again with a beak that couldn’t have been
Made by man.
Only God could have created the woodpecker and only God
Could have silenced the fear in my heart when I thought of…
The mania that shredded my hopes and plunged me into doubt,
And, only God could have been such a dependable friend
That I never felt the need to take the life that He gave to me,
The same life He saved when He forgave me for my sins.
Not so much like Plath, you see… not so much like Plath,
Who will always be a lesson to poets who believe…
Only God has the right to whisper farewell to the light,
The light He stirred inside when He promised you this time,
These precious moments, this life – blessed by grace,
Inspired by faith and brought to glory by the love that He gave.
Copyright ©
Regina Mcintosh
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