When Linda Died: Poem in the Model of the Confessionals

December 8, 2010 at 5:16 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
Tags: Poetry

I wish I cried when Linda died,
I wish I couldn’t eat.
I wish I sobbed my eyes blood-red
And woke each night from sleep
Soaked through with sweat from ghastly dreams
And feeling faint and dizzy-weak.
Or screamed or vomited or gagged
Until it burned to speak.

When Linda died, I sadly sighed
And stared down at my plate.
Ate dinner – quiet, but polite –
And feeling quite sedate,
Went straight to bed at half-past-ten
And slept alarming well,
Though I craved violent, vicious dreams
In which my grief rose to rebel
And make me feel – Something – Deeply.

When Linda sealed her suicide
I didn’t bawl or weep.
Though I despise the way she died,
In a bathtub – knife to vein –
I envy her:
I wish my wounds were carved so deep
That I could feel the pain.