Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Sweet Silence

They are dropping like flies.
One after the other.
Each one with an excuse:
A lack of time.
a commitment to a business,
a basketball game,
an inability to do the work.
I understand.
It’s scary.
To sit down and be with oneself,
to look inside and stay,
to write from the deep corners
where cobwebs and filth have remained
motionless for years.
Some just don’t want to go there.
That’s fine for them,
I suppose.
But I do.
I want
to purge,
to explore,
to exhume the dead
and see what they have to say.
I want
to wipe clean
my insides
till they are shiny and bright
as newly minted nickels.
I want to know what drives me,
the good and the bad.
I want to take it out and hold it in my hands
to the light of day,
and watch it bend and twist
and ooze.
Only then
will I be able to sit and watch the squirrels play
and not worry about what I should be doing instead.
Dip my hand in the lake and let the water drip
from my fingers,
and not wish for more.
Taste the honey on my tongue
as it falls from my spoon
and bask in its sweetness.