Okay

Everyday people ask
“How are you?”
And I say,
“I am okay.”
I mention my body.
No broken bones.
No Covid-19.
No cancer.
Intact.

The inside of my heart though,
I wonder if I can talk about it.
Myocardium.
It’s said to be the thickest.
It has to be.
It houses abstractions.
Raw, mind-numbing wounds:
The fear of a future.
The betrayal of promises.
The neglect of hope.
The presence of love.
The sounds of monsoon birds
Silenced by “it’s not you, it’s me”.
Sensitive, burning, bloody
Awe
Of those who move on.

That part –
That part is not okay.
Every breath serrates it.
Like ice on a chipped tooth.
Like wires under nails.

But I can’t say this.
So, everyday,
I say, I am okay.

Shirt Sleeves

Maybe it is in the nature of love
To fall away like autumn leaves;
Yet I wonder before you step out now,
Who helps you roll up your shirt sleeves.

I reckon you can live all by yourself
And you no longer need love’s aid.
When spring whispers in after winter dies,
Maybe then fears shall be unmade.

Now, as the rain falls and memory cries,
I remember enough to mourn,
And, in a darkened corner, my heart tries
To piece back life this love has torn.

Battles In Rhyme

Poetry…(rhymes)
Is all I write
Feels like a waste of time

Time that has been kind
(In hindsight –
I’ve always looked behind)

Through all battles fought
Life has cheated
Me of what I once sought.

This thought will pass.
Love is me.
Its grief does not last.

But a violence fills me
I rage against the night
Silently.

Life will continue
to use love’s heart
Despite these poetic lessons
That chronicle
its tearing apart.