CALL ME BELOVED

The storm is rolling in this afternoon,
I watch thunderheads gather out west –
tunnel vision circling around the only
real sensation piercing my lonely Sundays,
that weak pulse of heartbeats underneath
the steel edge of my fingernails, war painted,
ready to tear the very heart of me out from
beneath my skin; I tear into my heels so
I always walk on thin cushions of blood,
anxiety-numb, time-ticking rhythm, minutes
bleed away as sun casts long shadows, now,
I’m digging for the good heart that I’m told
lies waiting, down underneath the scar tissue,
the disappointing rot of everything I was told
about life that never came true, the catastrophe
of living is waking each day to new disasters –
it’s learning to love the wrecking ball, it’s the
suicide letters you’ll write to the furniture, to
the pets, to the carpet, because your parents
don’t need one – you’re not sorry; the news would
fall onto deaf and demented ears, discarded
along with other inconvenient truths about you –
watch the clouds. Watch the air draw back like
the ocean drags back tides, long pulls of water;
watch the trees outside twisting, shivering alive,
writhing against the certain fury of everything
that is to come – prepare yourself, prepare, the
world steadily draws breath. Shed your branches,
shed your skin, awake to walls burning around you
and build something anew; pray for good bones, that
the storms will pass, will gather, will pass, again