Frustrated Optimist

I look at my own hands,
clenched in a fist,
shaking before my face.


My eyes are squinted;
half-closed to my surroundings;
half-opened to the slides projected in my head.
I breathe half-winded.

I'm singing along with someone else's words
because they're there--
The closest thing to what my heart sings;
the comforteer.

My own hand,
clenched in a fist,
shakes before my face.

Where is my world?
All familiarity has gone astray
I wonder what it all was--
just another yesterday

...to add to my collection?

I'm constantly pushed down,
yet I don't give up.
I only see
the half-full cup.

This time I should.
I'm only perpetrating the pain.
If only, for once, I would
stop the wounding rain,

but still...
My own hand,
clenched in a fist,
shakes before my face.

June 7, 1994