As you may know, I continue to collaborate with other poets here, most frequently with Helen. Below is a poem of hers that I have edited and reworked, her original notes to me are contained in the notes section below. So if you like it, tell Helen. If you "choke" on it, tell the editor. That's why they pay us the big bucks! So, send me your scraps yearning to be free...
I am choking
on words.
chest clogged,
throat seized,
as I await to deplane,
when I will perforce,
speak these words,
but for now, held in a
prison garb of my own design.
organs can be donated,
the broken heart,
the shattered liver,
the kidney failing,
eyes for the blind,
lungs for the breathless.
the human psyche
is not replaceable.
I need a mind of titanium,
will gladly settle for either the
Tin-man's heart, or
Cowardly Lion's courage,
both, too much too hope for...
but they are not sold at the airport shops.
perhaps my unseen editor
will accompany me,
hand firmly on my writing elbow,
guiding, refining, selecting
les mot parfait...
How come?
How come everything
inside a body can be replaced
so artfully, artificially
except words inside a broken mind?
I cannot get these words out,
who can transplant a soul?
Limbs recoverable
an Arm, a Leg
Titanium, strength
a missing part replaced
Organs can be donated
The broken heart
The shattered liver
The kidney failing
Eyes for the blind
Lungs for the breathless
Every part of the human psyche
is replaceable
Except for the words
trying to exit
from a chest that is frozen
from a throat that is clogged
from section 38C Row B
where they sit, waiting to deplane
How come? How come everything
inside a body can be replaced
so artfully, artificially
except words inside broken minds?
Trapped like birds with broken wings?
Are all parts that are replaceable
externally, more important
then what's dying internally?
Not just inside our skin, but inside our soul?
I think about that a lot because I'm choked!
Helen 10 hours ago