Twisted, aren’t we?
If ever, oh if ever.
If ever there were a word to lay down to tell you what I am thinking.
If only you knew before it had been said.
When and why did you forget how to pick through drowsy poppies and lay
in the field naming cumulus clouds?
You, clever you are
and plagued with plenty and pain.
Oh my dear for it is all too much,
and forgive me for calling you selfish.
Oh if only you could see how we are all hurting —
blinded and bruised
beaten and battered
trying
so try as we are.
I can see where you got all turned around.
It’s right next to the pile of forgotten niceties and things you never told her.
I can’t exactly tell where I lost my own way.
Fingers crossing fingers,
hand over hand,
scrambled like feet playing hop scotch in the hot sun.
Twisted, aren’t we?
walking with shoelaces tied with the lights turned off.
Stumbling, ever so frequently,
but at the very least we are moving.
