Thursday, March 4, 2010

It Depends on Your Thermometer

You’ve wrecked my internal thermostat.
The cold is hot and the heat is chilly.
I’m wrapping up in blankets and
afghans to the sound of lawn mowers
and fresh-out-of school kids asking
for money. I’m taking medicine
to avoid addiction, and sleeping
in to remember the day—looking
for signs to know life is more
than extraordinary—formed
in the palm of a poor boy’s
dad as he bounces him on his knees.
“Am I just one more mouth to feed?”
I ask as I fast and fast until I throw up.
Ripping off my blanket you
expose me to the humidity.
And now I’m left to eat to
starve myself from you.


Eric Jones said...

This is an eerie departure for you, Hetty, and I'm utterly in love with it. It's darkly visual against a backdrop of sunshine, and reminds me of the Rene Magritte's famous "Empire of Light" painting.

Hetty said...

Thanks Eric. I write a lot of poetry that doesn't have a clear meaning but I usually don't post it. I decided to post this one and I'm glad I did. I think that is something I love about poetry-- sometimes it more accurately captures an emotion when it doesn't make sense because a lot of the time our emotions don't make sense!

I checked out that painting and I like it!