“…That’s me in the spotlight, losing my religion. Trying to keep up with you, and I don’t know if I can do it. Oh no, I’ve said too much. I haven’t said enough. ~ REM
“Expert divers are guiding them out through darkness and submerged passageways towards the mouth of the cave.” ~ bbc.com
Deep in dark caves, trapped alive
we send an urgent SOS, and feel it
as a sneeze. I must be sensitive
to this food, I say, and rush
into a romance of healing,
as if believing symptoms
like still-life paintings hang on
my museum’s walls, when really
they are being painted right now.
Clueless, I’m trying to fix sculptures
showcased in glass too heavily smudged
for the spotlight to penetrate. Darkness.
Trapped alive. I dart from ache to
cough, knowing this indigestion
isn’t normal, and so I fight
like a good soldier, resist,
pharmaceutically masked. A tight cave.
Unreachable. There is no cure,
intones the white-coated modern witch
doctor consulting his PDR gramarye,
bring stronger weapons to this war.
Trapped alive. We are captivated
by experts bringing their wizardry
of technology to the rescue. Deep inside
we know this is a metaphor
for reaching our inner living children.
We have to save ourselves; there is
nothing to conquer or get over. Welcome
home, be soothed, embraced.
The lesson dangles
in front of us, the promise
of rejuvenation if we reclaim
and celebrate the found pieces
we’ve so sorely missed.