Ming Poem by Tom Courtney

A curious remembering
A story beginning with its ending
A tale only now taking shape in my mind
A breathless, still-born, mute form
emerging from the daily drumbeat of my pain
pushing its way up through the insulation
I put upon it to protect myself from myself
as I continue to draw upon time
to mend me and teach me
A story about Ming
and a story, I think, about myself

And she is of me now as I speak of her
trying to express her manner, her method
her way, her voice, her touch,
committing myself deeper than if I could just forget
I am spelling-out the name 'Ming'
I am sitting hunched over my coffee table
rattling this ersatz plastic keyboard
face flushed red with blood
My cheeks are wet to my neck
I am immersed in her as one thrown out of a space capsule
spinning, tumbling, turning into the unknown
the umbilical cord cut
haplessly clothed in all the futile elements of my science

I am writing a poem to Laura and she is really Ming
and I am at sport with my demons once again
captive to the beast of my obsessions
I am not over her yet
though I measure the day now in wider spans
though I can be distracted from the thought of her
and even as I have easy restful nights

But I must accelerate this process
this inevitable tearing-off of bits of me
the rebuilding of myself around a stronger image
growing upon a stiffer shoot
I am going to live without her and become happy
This is simple
and I think of freedom
and a green, grassy slope that will hold my head in my hands
a sun that will toast me to a fine, healthy hue
all of this some day

That I have failed at forgetting must be
a deep, abiding part of me
that now seeks a peaceful oblivion
ultimately through the remembering
and the retelling

And though I find myself writing again
this time of Sonia
it is Ming that is churning me
and driving me on

Perhaps I have it best
to have run a rocky race
perhaps without an issue I would have
very small words to say

And I have come to say to you Ming
come to me now in the night
when I am weak and sentimental
when I am apt to fall for your beguiling ways
your sweet-talking lies
glib to fool myself at your behest
and fooling me less now I think
Do not come to visit me in the day
Call on me instead when you exercise
your full powers upon me

Take me to that place I have decided never to go again
I have searched myself to the point of knowing
what it is I must do
I only know that you have burst your bounds
terrible force
and in so doing
have relinquished your secret