Going Outside (Usually) Helps

a pain-flare poem

Things That Moved Across the Sky, While I Held Still

a hawk,
					                      it is good

a chimney swift,
				                            sometimes

sunlight.
				          for the suffering body

two airplanes,
				                       to rediscover 

winged insects,
				                             its place

clouds.
                                            in the larger world.   

the molecules
                                                      everything

 that make up oxygen,
                                                        changes

   and pollen;
                                                         even—

         exhaust,
                                               especially—

               smoke,
                                             what isn’t

                     dust.
                                              visible.

                         nitrogen,
                                            even—

                            helium,
                                especially—    

                                     stars.
                                      this.

Sorry to get all emo on you. I’m still working on how to write about August—the subtitle up top probably gives you a clue as to why. In the meantime, I urge you to go outside, even for just a minute. Sit. Look at the sky. Breathe.

We’ll get through this. It doesn’t feel like it, but we will.

If you liked this poem, or pity me because it’s so awful, please like, share, comment, or subscribe!