Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2012
because your concern has grown to be infectious
I’ve compiled the state of my union,
these irreverant ties that pin me together
like a patchwork quilt – six feet tall,
full of words yet nothing more
than an echoing, receptive hollowness.
it’s been two years since I’ve stopped worrying
about the bubble of quiet that I live in -
I forget at times that others still do, they see it
as if tangible and wrapped around my head like a shawl.
for better or worse, it’s of my own creation -
a gentle white noise of platitudes and deferance
that carries me through the day.

to begin with, my name – born of the highlands
with a meaning worked into the letters
that’s devoid of the christian trappings,
no imagery of messianic light or beatitudes
but instead a crooked nose, prophetic maybe
of the first scar to mar my surface
in that appealing way that looks best on coins
and scuffs on shoes, the kind of weathered
I aspire for and have come to appreciate.

what else, then? this beard across my face -
spreading patiently like a reaching vine,
that I sporadically tend to, endure and prune?
it isn’t fashionable, or born out of desire to be,
it is of me – appearing as if in fulfillment
of a promise made to myself
for warmth and comfort at any cost -
made wrecklessly and without forethought
for the way things really are
in the way only a child can.

the fanaticism of my dawning twenties has quieted,
where once I sang of the body electric
I now feel like I’m only borrowing it -
staring for uncomfortable lengths of time
at these fingers, picturing how the skin
is deftly stretched around them while
my appetite has grown as insatiable as my hunger
for attractive typeface and paper stock. lately
I’ve rekindled my satisfaction for bread, a longing
and ancient sentiment akin for the love of green,
of things that grow out from the stubborn earth -
I count myself as one of them, and just as stubborn.

then this is where I appeal to the future -
where I explain my patience for better days,
this lushness and fullness that I dream of,
that I know is coming – a certainty outside explanation.
this is where my state lies, the wholeness of myself -
it’s all patience and waiting, happiness I send out
ebbing from myself, outward like waves in a pool.
I swear I see them sometimes, like spring afternoons
when I dance a few steps in the grocery store,
they hit the clerk like sunshine rolling over her skin.
it’s an unexpected warmth that makes her laugh
despite herself, and I smile back – this moment
is nourishing and how I define myself.
Cameron Martin
Written by
Cameron Martin
Please log in to view and add comments on poems