Posts Tagged Airbag

Searching Through Stop Lights

There are two quite long stop lights on the way back home.
I feel victorious when they are red.
My spaces, not for staring, not for judging others,
but for spiritual transition
out of the deep graves of humankind’s laws.

My right arm with torn muscle
reaches for The Complete Anne Sexton.
She is sparked by the alert.
Passenger side air bag isn’t on.

I crawl under a mighty Northeastern Oak tree.
Anne holds my hand and her eyes tell me I’m good.
It’s my transition.
I want Anne to hold my hand forever.

But the light will change.
Hundreds of wicked symbols will shock me
back to hate. Back to detesting who I am
and how I see the messy chaos of unmixed disgust.

Anne sits back into the tan plush, lacking her air bag.
I hope Anne has left a drop of life in me from the transition.
I hope there might be life left in me when I get back home.

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