Anxiety Does Not Hold My Hand
Anxiety does not hold my hand,
It squeezes shaping breath
Tighter, rasping.
And rattles rational head
Words, grasping.
Anxiety does not hold my hand,
It mixes idea into batter
Thoughts, groping.
And fixes in a rigid throat
Words, choking.
Anxiety does not hold my hand,
It shrieks in vulnerable ear
Heart, pounding.
And clings to familiar fear
Suspicions, sounding.
Anxiety does not hold my hand,
It is a faithful violent friend.
It’ll Take Some Time
It’ll take some time
I want to see you
Drink spontaneous adventure
Clasp sticky fingers
Shock your tender elbow socket.
It’ll take some time
I want to see you
Chew nervously around the nail
Drive behind a grey-crowned head
Fail and fall and frown.
It’ll take some time
I want to see you
Sing alone with wooden spoon
Stand lost in an angry rain
Lose keys again and again
It’ll take some time
I want to see you
Run and fight
Lose and win
Cry and love
It’ll take some time
I want to see you
Show true skin
Before I let you in.
Your Life is Truly Glass
There is sweetness in not knowing
Your life is truly glass
I begin to realize slowly
Others see through my smiles
Your life is truly glass,
A fiercer substance than believed
The sun magnified and reflected
Light sears brightly out of me.
A fiercer substance than believed,
They lay stones to the ground
Notice sweeps across their faces
I’m not brittle now they see
They lay stones to the ground
And smile sweetness down at me
But it’s easy to see through them when
Your life is truly glass.
Tree
I had breakfast with Tree
She shared her knowingness with me
At dawn, a tender awakened shoot
She tunneled dirt-deep to suckle with root
Time spoke with the wandering smallness of birds
And squirrels and frogs and grasshopper words
Look down in surprise to callous-grown bark
She said, in spring green even forms in the dark
But a heaviness slowly weighs on the breeze
Siphons life from veins in tight-clinging leaves
Summer is play until the storehouse is dry
Prayers lift from thirsty ground to unopened sky
Withered by emptiness, leaves dread the ground
Though pushing against change, they finally fall down
In autumn, the wind sings a funeral song
All of creation joins to sing along
Frost bows the back demanding a price
Limbs crack at the feeble places of life
Winter requires a surrender to sleep
It is in this isolation, she said, that I find the most peace.
At dawn, a tender awakened shoot
She tunneled down deep to suckle with root
She leaned in close to whisper sage truth
Change is the cycle urging Earth to move.
Jodi Whitehurst 