How I Feel: Asking And Answering For Myself Poem by Dennis Ryan

February 9,2006; revised Sunday morning January 15,2012

"As long as you say ‘one' instead of ‘I' there's nothing in it and one can easily tell the story;
but as soon as you admit to yourself that it is you yourself, you feel as if transfixed, and are
horrified."
- Franz Kafka, "Wedding Preparations in the Country"

"How does one feel? "
One feels a great pouring out of the DNA
and amino acids, an emptying out into thin air
as cells congregate with cells at the cell walls
as the spirit passes out through the membranes.
Then nothing.Absolutely nothing.One feels nothing,
and nothing to return to, but this.How can I better describe it?
It feels like standing on the edge of a field somewhere
hearing the echo of a sound but not the sound itself;
or waiting for a loved one to arrive only to see
his or her shadow pass by like somehalf-remembered dream—
the blood obscures everything.
This is what I know; this is how I feel.
What wine then does one drink?
What bread does one eat?
I wish I knew; I wish I knew;
I want to ask my own questions,
and answer for myself.