Upstairs, my
moon-bright bed is lit
with frosty
questions on a silver sheet
I look up to
watch her beaming face;
lie down my
dreams in this sad place.
after Li Bai (701 – 762)
x.2017
STATUS UPDATE
I used to be window, now see only walls.
I listened for traffic, now hear only screams.
Things are not what they were.
I lived in a cell, now camp on the floor.
Once was high riser, now blackened cracked tooth.
Things are not what they were.
I didn’t stay put. I opened my door.
My landing had notice: no cyanide mentioned.
Things are not what they were.
I used to be stairwell, now am ground water.
I wanted confession, got wringing of hands.
Things are not what they were.
A used-to-be person, I’ll now be memorial.
I was unheard but won’t remain silent.
Things are just as they were.
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