The sky threatens to fall like
heavy drapes with stones in the hems.
Opening and closing
over my best memories
with an enemy’s rhythm, its callous whim
mocking the heart’s work, mocking
even the surgeon’s touch that would
keep the chambers in tune.
I write about the bully when it’s all too much.
The holidays had lifted me,
driven fear and anger at him
out of my mind for a while.
And a friend came to town.
We met in person for the first time,
she and her family open and warm
as if the person I am fit just fine
in their midst. As if my quirky edges
fit smooth enough exactly as they were.
It was so good to smile.
My spirit rose despite the gulf
separating my words and pen.
I paid no attention to the bully’s
creeping scheme of people and things
captured like wild animals
he couldn’t stand to see free.
For a short time, I forgot
the parts of my life that bent so much
from his clumsy weight.
And it’s all too much again, so this is about him,
the Commander-in-Chief whose mind
is equipped to command no one.
The bully lurched and threw his weight down
as a New Year’s gift to the world,
making these words my first
to squeeze through the writer’s fog.
May he curl up now for winter
and sleep it away, letting hearts breathe,
leaving them time to do better than worry and ache.
Copyright 2020 Ré Harris. All rights reserved.