What I Am Going Through
The high winds knocked the power out—it popped back on
a few times for a bit and then it was gone. Perhaps for good.
I left the house not knowing how it would be upon my return.
These days, I can’t seem to look people in the eye when they
ask me how I’m doing. I don’t think that it’s that I’m not well—
it’s just that it’s such a personal question. But I could be wrong.
I told my friend that my lady can’t stop checking on the news
and he said, “She has a problem.” And I said to him, “We all
have a problem.” I don’t know if he understood what I meant.
When I’m out on the water, things don’t seem so bad to me—
I’m not sure if it’s that the river is calming to my sensibilities
or if I just enjoy the isolation, the distance from other people.
Before the light of this day is gone, I hope to have a new way
of thinking. At the very least, a different emotional zip code.
The laughter only makes it burn more. Don’t moan so much.
Scott Silsbe was born in Detroit. He now lives in Pittsburgh. His poems have appeared in numerous periodicals and have been collected in the books Unattended Fire, The River Underneath the City, and Muskrat Friday Dinner. He is also an assistant editor at Low Ghost Press.