Ourselves

A cough:

A gesture. A pulse of diffused sunlight
The tilt of a head. A passing cloud.

These are the true languages of our thoughts;

Our feelings; ourselves.

A scratch:

Forever after and, even, before…
It’s not the electric shock, infinitely small.

But the bolt of lightning,

The violin string stroked into a sigh.

A yawn:

The hot, chewy sweetness.
The disheveled mess. Faces funny with traces.

It’s real.

The world resists our very footfalls.

An idea:

And dancing around it,
Fighting with words.

It makes all the difference,

When we feel for ourselves.

March 1984

“Ourselves” appeared in the Best New Poets of 1988, edited by John Frost, published by the American Poetry Association, 1989. It also appears in From These Words (poetry 1973-1988) available for download on this site.