With age and time and coming and going
Seems to come a known unknowing
A purposeful numb.
Like a strip of tape reused far too oft,
Whose stick has been stripped and grown soft,
The worn heart grows hard.
Weary from the partings’ repetition
It creates a frown-free fiction:
Everything is fine.
With a stone-faced embrace it bids farewell
Those whom it refuses to tell
It breaks for them all.
The shell, fictitious, then begins to seep
Into the quiet, honest deep,
Convinced to conform.
It dries the ducts which would have, rightly, shed
Healing waters properly bred;
But cry she does not.
Instead she drinks a powerless potion,
Goes through emotionless motions,
Until there’s no pain.
How miserable a lie she has believed
To quiet the bull unrelieved
Who is right to rage.
© Rebecca M. Loomis, 2016
About this poem: Yesterday I said goodbye to my dear older brother, who had been visiting me from New York. Dropping him off at the airport, as gargantuan machines of metal soared overhead, I was reminded of this poem. I wrote it the last time I flew. I was leaving my childhood home to return to Texas, and in recognizing my own distasteful numbness, my complete lack of feeling where feeling should have strangled me, I spilled out these words.