How old were you when you recognized that people die, the full weight of that word, the finality and unjustifiability of it all? When the pricks of survivors’ guilt slashed into your kidneys, or liver depending on your age I suppose, and the more dramatic side of everything we are was laid bare on the stage? All the world, all the actors, the mascots, paper tigers drip dropping in the rain – when did you watch their costumes fall to the floor, piles of cloth, nothing more, nothing less?
When did you have the wind knocked out of you? When did you cheat the night of sleep, tangling ghosts as they set off scattering around your room? The projector inside your eye, your body moving at insect speed, outside a hospital, tocks never coming the way they’re supposed to. Or sitting in an aisle, slips and sighs louder than the piano playing, the haunting haunting you. Did you stand still or did your knees buckle? Time’s too slow in this bright sunlight, our nearest star getting nearer, this is universal speed.
We are all troubled just the same. Shadowed by an underworld, stationed in a galaxy, gifted, full of fire and untamed. We are troubled just the same.