God, God,/ what do I do/ after all this survival?
I think there is a point where all the sorrow and the pain and indignation at the unfairness of the universe melts into anger and rage. "My Lord, why is goodness so hard for me?"
"I hiss at him, I want him to know/ danger/ is coming from both sides. You can't even/ trust what you love."
This meanness is truly what we do when we know how helpless we are. Sometimes, when I'm swallowed up in rage by my own incompetence, my own inability to do things that would have come easily years ago, my pointless clawing at the glass like the cat in this poem, I'm suddenly reminded, "But wasn't I good once?"
Perhaps I shouldn't post poems this long. But this one is so dear to my heart.








