poem from last november

Last November while Hugo was doing his third annual nanowrimo, I wrote a poem a day in solidarity since I did not have enough time to write a novel. I write a ton of poetry when life is less than rewarding. And I realize now that I haven't written a poem in months - one negative side effect of happiness.

Thought I'd post a poem I wrote early in the process last November. Last November was hard.

--

You stand naked with your feet cold and your belly hot
under the shower streaming at constant speed,
you see the blue light begin to collect on the walls
white and layered in thick and thin sheets
boards and nails, electrical wire and plumbing pipes

and then you are pulling the electrical wire through a hole the size of a silver dollar
you are opening your fist, closed mostly to itself,
through the paint, the plaster, the sheetrock.
It is 6:24 a.m., everything happening
is rushing down your skull, your shoulders, your spine,
down a drain and into the gutters and oceans. You stand naked;
the material you have to learn is so un-learnable
and imaginary, like God, you wish you could
make something happen in the name of a miracle
you wish it could be like poetry: curious, water-like, warm,
but it is not

everything you have to learn is like falling
your foot slips on some soap
and you fall hard, elbow and shoulder hitting the edge of the tub
hips and spine slamming against the floor
your head suddenly in your hands
as if you were a very small child, sheltering yourself from debris
fallout and rubble
but it is not that
it is only water falling
at 6:26 a.m. What makes you stand up, finally, is the fear of being too late
of disturbing the balance of the day
of not getting up for a long, long time.