Edvard Munch, L'enfant malade (1882)
the world is different today
since she woke from that nightmare
a hostile place where
two crows chase an osprey
high into the sky
taking turns diving up at it
across miles of treeline
a place where a sick person
abandoned with a child
cannot rise to the occasion
doesn't have the ability
to go out and take the bus
figure out where the schools are
or go grocery shopping
meanwhile the guilt
of being a total burden
hangs like bitter fruit
and while all these thoughts
are deafening in her head
everything seems to synthesize
into a blinding blankness
what to do what to do
with all this nothingness
her body throbs with pain
as the incessant september rain
returns to oregon and
pounds down whatever is left
of intelligent consciousness
there is always sleep
temporary or eternal
one precluding the other as
her heavy eyes and slack jaw
drift down to the keyboard
and the roar of cars through water
becomes a hymn for her hopelessness
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