“Blue Song” by Tennessee Williams

I opened the New Yorker today.

Blue Song

I am tired.
I am tired of speech and of action.
If you should meet me upon the
street do not question me for
I can tell you only my name
and the name of the town I was
born in–but that is enough.
It does not matter whether tomorrow
arrives anymore. If there is
only this night and after it is
morning it will not matter now.
I am tired. I am tired of speech
and of action. In the heart of me
you will find a tiny handful of
dust. Take it and blow it out
upon the wind. Let the wind have
it and it will find its way home.

–Tennessee Williams

My husband tells me this is a “suicide poem,” but I don’t think it’s so straightforward. But it’s a little of what I am beginning to feel. Maybe it’s being tired of speech and action, maybe it’s being tired of all the questions, maybe I guess it’s just the process of things.

I have a feeling my life has changed, even if slightly, maybe greatly. I’m coming to terms with it all.

What’s most frustrating is that my disabilities are not visible, and so there is so much expected of me, even though I cannot meet some expectations. I am so angry, I am so tired, I am so frustrated.

On the other hand–I am more drawn to poetry these days.  Maybe it’s because they’re short.  Maybe it’s because they penetrate a part of me that is in the shadows.  I opened the New Yorker today.  It’s a start.

maybe the world is ending

whoa.

emerged from my stroke to read that there is a gas-like odor in Manhattan and a few dozen birds died in downtown Austin. is the world ending?

that, plus all these random deaths and that avalanche in colorado. and all those deaths in iraq.

or maybe i’m just not used to watching the news. these days, i’m watching the news lots–part of an invalid’s life.  does the world fall apart like this EVERY day?