Empty Souls and Rabbit Holes

 

I wanted to compose a poem from

this collection of thoughts that rattle

like ghosts inside my brain. Something worthy

and profound. But they won’t organize

into any kind of order, so I compensate

and collect myself instead; keeping 

busy because physical exhaustion is 

so much better than mental anguish 

any day of the week, and “twice on Sunday."

Alice trips on her sadness and slips 

                                                                       d

                                                                          o

                                                                            w

                                                                                n

 the rabbit hole to escape for awhile.

The Hatter’s gone MAD and there’s not

enough tea in the pot to calm the tempest, 

but it passes quickly.  She shrunk for a moment, 

but now she’s grown. She climbs back to reality.

The fantasies have dissipated; the dreams fade

as they often do.  I have read our days

are numbered, and some are meant to walk 

alone; we mark our time inside these pages

where grief and happiness are one.

 

Ginny Brannan 2023

Image: John Tenniel, artist 

 

In the Silence of our Days

 

When the sun has reached its peak

and the rains have come and gone

and nothing hovers in our grasp

reminding us where we belong

and we search for any sign

but  emptiness is all we find.

Our hope sits stagnant in the air

veiled in smoke from distant fires,

I’m left to ask if your still here...

the silence that you’ve cast, unclear.

How dependent I’ve become

waiting on the smallest crumb;

a tiny fix to get me through–

no heavy drugs or needle marks

yet surely, just a word or two?

I live, vicariously it seems,

through the lines that others pen

the balance shifts to leave me scourged

when I no longer see the words.

 

© Ginny Brannan

Perhaps You Didn't Notice

 

I feel like I am myself again,

but really, what does that mean?

Aren’t we all ourselves,  all of the time?

So I should say “I’m back to my usual 

state of normalcy.”  I’m back to being me.

For a little while I was in a different place

a darker space,  somewhere inside a well

no rope ladder, each day the same

not good or bad; they just were.

Anxiety ruled: the overwhelming

sense of being alone.  How could I

start again? How would I survive?

So I parodied all the right motions

doing the things that must be done

all the routine and mundane

I guess that’s called “survival mode.”

I can almost put my finger on the exact moment

when the skies cleared, the fog disappeared.

No, I do not dwell in the dark places, the

empty spaces, but for a time I was a guest there.

Sometimes we get lost for awhile, inside the

loss that we carry. We talk the talk and 

walk the walk, and paint ourselves into a better place

knowing that we aren’t there yet; wondering

if we ever will be. Oh, I have seen this place before,

this empty well without a rope. Life chews us up

and spits us out,  and we can either sink or swim 

But to stay afloat, now that’s the challenge isn’t it? 

Perhaps you didn’t notice I was gone—so practiced 

in the art of the façade. And while I can’t explain just 

where I’ve been, I’m happy just to be myself again.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

My tipping point came in February, where I no longer felt that I was just "functioning" but was actually happy and excited about doing things again, about life again. Don't feel bad if you didn't notice. It means I did a good job covering. Some things are too personal to share until they're over. See that picture in the upper left corner of this blog? That was February.

Caught in a Landslide, No Escape....

 

In the early hours,  where 

reality and fantasy meet as one,  

and imagination has free rein,

I think not of what is, but what could be.

We really aren’t so different, 

we’ve seen more than our share;

and so we  throw up walls 

for our protection.  But I feel them

closing in on me inside this empty tomb

keeping me from any real connection.

And it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten

everything I know,  yet another

reason to forestall; and that the first rule 

of communication is just to say “hello.”

Would it be a start? Or our downfall?
                 ~~~~~~~~~

So in the early morning light I play the “what if” game,

~and wonder of the chances that you have done the same?

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023