Anger

Ack! My head is aching - looong meeting today at work...hurry, hurry, hurry to buy Mary a costume for her play this weekend...then off to pick up E to get her DL. (More on that later!) Poor Matt! I only vaguely remember gulping down lunch with him at my desk. (Sorry!)

Yesterday's prompt from Poetic Asides was:

"...write an angry poem. That is, a poem about someone or something that gets angry."

Ah - anger. A toughie. My take was on how so many of us (often women) shut down in the face of anger...How paralyzed we can feel when some one's anger is pointed at us and fired. Why are we like that? And why do some people seem like they could care less?

Anger

In the face of Anger
she shuts down,
whirling silently
closed like a camera’s
aperture, successfully
shuttered against the
rage, but barricaded too
from the Light of Life –
wilting and dying. In an
instant gravity lets loose
and she floats away.
Cupped hands to mouth,
I shout her name –
but she is gone, escaping,
building a world better
fit for the blind and the
lost. But I see a small slip
of courage showing, the
teensiest crack opening.
She is beginning to fill
her ballast tanks,
beginning to find her
way home, testing the
waters to see if the
Anger has gone.