It would be nice if I could
finally do it.
Either snap off the shorter end,
jump in front of a train
(would there be remains?
Nothing beautiful in a gunshot,
pills hurt I’ve heard.)
Shorter end or longer and I
keep going somehow,
as I do now.
Shorter end means so much I don’t know
or absolutely nothing.
“Does it make you sad, believing in no God?
How does your life have meaning? ”
She was in shock, as her little brain
strained without success.
I cited reasons.
I don’t know, is what I should have said. (Is it your business?)
How can anything be enough, how is life not enough?
All my meaning falls into love and people, which I also fear.
Where I’m lost I find death as
interesting, maybe. Not so bad.
As meaningless and full and empty as everything else.
“We all die someday, ”
she attempted to drill it into my head,
the idea of nothingness.
I was too young, tears streamed.
I’d already found there was no reply
from man in the sky.
Why was it always he?
I became angry.
A nonbelieving child,
crying at night for sleep.
“How can they sleep? ” I asked myself.
I asked them, as they snored so carelessly.
So now I wonder, wishbone,
which way will you go?
Either way it’s both,
and I don’t quite care,
Bright love fades
into quiet understanding,
together yet still always alone… I feel so alone…
Everything once so bright fades away blindingly,
or lingers, unwilling to go. Like me?
Either way I don’t quite care, I tell myself.
I will love him,
I shrug as it fades, a quiet surrender called maturing.
I will fail, I will curse the god who does not exist,
I will age for however long.
Maybe it will be “worth it” maybe not.
Either way, I won’t remember enough to know.
I’ll be too old to care,
flying away mindlessly in a rocking chair…
brightly fading away.
Comments about this poem (Wishbone by Camille Lansing )
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