After September
My life tried to return to normal,
A visitor after all.
I tried hating myself.
Sending it out to the universe, but
It came back like a beaten thing.
Had I damaged something delicate.
Had I torn away at the wholeness
The pictures in the papers didn’t
Wave back.
They hadn’t won anything.
The Dali Lama called up President Bush Jr.
And asked him not to go to war. I went out
To weed the late spinach threw the dying back.
Tore the old blossoms from the Rhododendrons
To help next years blooms take hold.
The news kept on coming like a truck
Backing up. Will it slam into me.
Should I take a step back.
I signaled alarm, my flesh sticking
To the surface of things.
Feet spread to hold this piece of earth.
Surprised at the wonder of existence.
A kind of hope.
Susan Bazett