Sunday, October 26, 2008

So the Zoloft appears to be kicking in, finally, to which I can only say: about freaking time.
So I'm feeling somewhat better, or to put it more evocatively: drowning, but not completely submerged.
I have, however, had some comforting dreams (which I always seem to have when I've been having a particularly rough time). Just such a dream inspired this.

Oh Suzanna

I dreamed of you
last night,
Prophetess of the red-gold hair and flute;
We were sitting on a low stone wall--
it could have been in
Brewster or in Ithaca,
that home of homes I always return to
in my thoughts,
Where I first knew love unalloyed by
rage or shame--
we were beside a small stream,
gently shaded green.
You laughed, that golden vibrato
I've grown to love--
not high or flighty but a thing of power,
rooted in your chest and pouring forth.
And I confessed that times were hard again,
and you smiled and pulled a blanket from your lap,
the palest yellow,
like a chick just-hatched,
and with deft fingers wrapped me up in it
like an invalid, or like
a frightened child
who requires more than words to still her fear.
Then, motherly, you held me to your chest,
and I could hear your heart, steady as tides,
thrumming beneath the cross you always wear,
and in that moment
surrounded on all sides
by heart-sounds, blankets, arms,
it was as if
someone had spread a poultice
on old wounds,
and for a while the ancient ache dissolved,
and I was home then, loved
and safe and warm. --AG

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