Poem: Sinking

This poem is a good pairing for the poem I posted a few weeks ago called “Buoyant.” This poem is more from inside the storm of life, while the other is from the perspective after the storm passes. While “Buoyant” seems to be an answer or a more hopeful perspective to this poem, I wrote it in response to so many other poems I’d read about drowning and sinking — a common imagery poets use when circumstances feel overwhelming. In a way though, it feels like “Buoyant” is a continuation to this poem, an answer to the unspoken question in this one of “Will I make it through this?”

As a writer, I often strive to put hope into pieces, and when I’m through with a piece and don’t find it, I think it keeps swirling in my mind until I feel comfortable enough to find the hope and place it into a piece. That’s not to say that one piece didn’t fulfill its purpose or capture an emotion, but sometimes they only capture the story from that moment and time is needed to capture the rest of the story.

Sinking

Beams of sunlight try to fill me
with serenity, while they graze the
surface of leaves hinting at a peace
that eludes me.

At times, I forget not to converse with Blue Jays
because they will use my cries to mock me.
For a reason I can’t explain
I have to gaze up at the stars to feel grounded.

I’m a shapeshifter,
a wanderer,
a fleeting aria of birdsong.
An echo, either at the beginning or the end,
but I feel I’m repeating the pain of someone else.

And I’m drowning.

There is no buoy
or life preserver.
Because I am the buoy and the life preserver,
but I’m filled over capacity.

This storm should pass too,
but it hasn’t.
And no one hears my plea.

Except the Blue Jay.
But he doesn’t understand.
He repeats what I say,
but it doesn’t mean anything to him.

When I tread the water,
trying to stay afloat,
I gaze up at the stars
and I’d swear they were
trying to ground me down
to the ocean floor.