BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

More stuff ...

Well ... I got up to the Dentist's office early and wrote the poem here while waiting there.

This has not been a fun day ... The Wife took the day off sick, so was home hatching schemes which all seem to include us moving from here off to parts unknown to do stuff that she's only 10% thought through. What's really scary is that she's actually acting on some of this stuff, which looks to include quitting her current job to get into a trainee position elsewhere. Some days I think the only sane thing for me to do would be to shoot myself. Damn. Every time she jumps into something like this, she regrets it within 6-8 weeks. Only this time she'll figure out she doesn't like the new stuff after she quits her current job. Of course, anything I try to bring up in terms of "have you considered ..." just evokes tears, because I'm being obstructing, not helping, not doing anything. The fact that what is passing for her "business plan" has holes in it through which you could drive cattle becomes my fault if I bring it up. We're going off to Columbus in a couple of weekends and I hope her friends and family there will bitch-slap some sense into her, because nothing I say or do is of any use. Sometimes "not-doing" is a far better course of action than "doing", but she's always been one to want to move when the windows got dirty, rather than face the task of cleaning them.

Anyway ... the following obviously has more to do with the last post than this one ...

                    UNABLE TO BE FILLED

                    waves of loss
                    break on the shores
                    of our awareness
                    in strange patterns
                    driven by strong tides
                    pulses of recall
                    of familiar things
                    now without

                    so many years
                    of constant contact
                    pressing in lines
                    molding the form
                    how with removal
                    can we act whole?
                    how in isolation
                    can we be our self?

                    these days bear echoes
                    of days now gone before
                    they hum to absence
                    on subtle planes
                    with tangible voids
                    and structures of not being
                    where being ought to be
                    yet is no longer

                    surprised by tears
                    we don't expect
                    the passing points
                    that spark remembrance
                    to rip open wounds
                    so newly healed
                    and spin us into longings
                    unable to be filled

                    our vector veers
                    from all these others
                    our timeline turns
                    towards different frames
                    the world still sleeps
                    and never cares
                    while we are tense
                    and full of fear

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2004 by Brendan Tripp


Heh ... I just realized the "dental pun" in the title of this one! No, it has nothing to do with tooth decay ... as those who have been paying attention may have noticed, I have been snagging lines from these poems of late to title them, and this particular "filling" refers to those empty places in the heart brought on by loss. I figured I'd add this note here just in case anybody else hit that and said "gee, Brendan must be writing about abscessed teeth"!

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