head of a pin

While Dancing On The Head Of A Pin

i would whisper to them that i understood, voice
filled with tears and abject misery, talking to the
dead. i knew then what i understood, but i don't
remember now.

"i know," i'd say repeatedly.

"i know."

now i don't. i must have buried it with the stuff i
couldn't deal with. the stuff that would have made
it impossible for me to work and support myself. i
needed to work. there was no Bruce to fall back
on. there was no one. there was only me.

"i know."

lately i feel as if it's on the tip of my tongue, this thing i knew.
sometimes in the middle of a nightmare i am able to relax and
find safety. sometimes.

i remember when i couldn't sleep more than an hour at a time.
then it was 2 hours before the dreams came. then i had a dream
that put the nightmares to rest for days at a time. the green grass,
the black woman singing in a clear, strong voice words i didn't
understand to music i had heard before, but couldn't name.

now, trying to deal with the things i wasn't able to deal with then,
i really miss those dead relatives who gathered above my head
in that closet on W. Thoman street.

"i know."

maybe someday i will.

denise