“Distance Doesn’t Separate People. Silence Does.”

preoccupied poet, maude phelps hutchins

Birth

I have my mother's rage.

The quiet rage, the unassuming one,

the rage which grips onto every molecule of your body,

until it claws and licks at your whitened bones.

The rage which sinks its sharp canines in you

which savours the taste of blood,

it craves it.

It lures your loved ones in carefully, it invites them into its stenching residence.

Sets out a nice cup of tea, or perhaps, the good tablecloth.

And when they think it's gone, the rage twists their necks,

and laps up the blood with its serpent tongue.

I have my father's indifference.

I sit and watch as it happens, smiling, as I watch and watch my house burn.

- e.u.

And it whispers

Maybe I do remember.

The quiet thoughts in dark corners during rainy days or sunny mornings.

I remember losing. Losing against thoughts that snuck up on me.

Is that form beside me a friend? It whispers to me, like a friend would, like we share a secret.

It’s the secret to why I feel like this. The whispers are heavy when they reach my ears. Words with weight to them.

My knees shake. It’s cold. It's the rain. Is it the light breeze? There’s sun. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands.

I don’t know what’s gripping me. I don’t know what’s holding me down.

I can’t stand up.

It won’t let me go. It’s in my legs, in my arms. Weight, so much weight. It holds my hand. And it whispers.

Andrea Gibson, Lord of the Butterflies

It’s staying up at night

Listening to the ticking of the clock,

the sounds from outside.

It's being distracted for just a short time

by the light of the streetlight

shining through the carelessly closed shutters

It’s hoping not having to face the next day

It’s numbing fear

Waking up the next morning,

starting the day with newfound motivation

It’s creeping up throughout the day

Doing the dishes,

writing an essay,

drinking coffee

And suddenly it’s there

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.

Virginia Woolf

Jeanette Winterson, from "Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal," publ. in 2011