When you didn’t know me

when I didn’t know you

I read your diary, I read your thoughts

“They’re good together because they’re both

hot wired crazy for this world” you remarked

years later we’re all older and I think on that

recalling the friends you had who were

happy, congenial, fit in, laughed at jokes

how hard it was for me to approach normal

almost every day out of seven attempts

I have always flown with muscular ravens

they get me, they understand what it’s like

waking up on the wrong side of life

hurting for no good damn reason than

the plague of the fitful black dog

it’s that strangeness, becomes a succor

to people ill wrought

you wouldn’t understand that

when you didn’t know me

when I didn’t know you

like people in an arranged marriage

may grow close or further apart

divining hate or love in toss of dice

like trees planted in the same orchard

will lean toward sun or embrace moonlight

their fruit sweet or tart, bitter or succulent

a storm wavering on the nebulous

wondering whether to blow everything to pieces

or let it sit, thinking

it’s safe, safe at last

when we never are.

6 Replies to “Succor”

  1. I keep coming back to these lines, scrolling back up again and again;

    “it’s that strangeness, becomes a succor

    to people ill wrought”

    Yes, there’s a piece of the puzzle of how your poetry and story have so touched and inspired me, that succor.

  2. “Succor” has touched something in me. I wouldn’t be surprised if some new poems write themselves in my hand, as a result.

  3. Dear Carol Anne I really appreciate you reading this and commenting – thank you so much

Comments are closed.