"The Alternate Me (for Theodore Roethke)"
The sun casts roof shadows
of witches’ hats, snow falls hard
then leaves me picking my way through
icy islands as I follow
pedestrian
explorers to the corner store.
Not even cold weather can
chill
my lopsided exuberance.
I don’t think of spring, live
in
the here and now but soon
my telepathy will kick in and my
wife
will sense the change. Already
I am feeling god-like, dance around
the house, a big bear oblivious
to missteps or an unbalanced calf.
I look out the windows more and more;
become curious-- see the
neighbors
have a new car and I’m pleased that
it is red and then
I wake earlier and earlier, stay up later
and later. I turn the
volume up on everything.
I crave a war of sounds to kick me
into the
next battle, the lines drawn years
ago before I learned not to tell and
maybe
no one will notice that I can hear God
talking. I try to turn
down his huge voice
but cannot find the control so I let Him
speak.
Only now do my wife and friends
offer me a lift to bedlam
again--
visiting hours from nine to nine
but I’m already occupied.
Two Christ's get into an argument;
I’m the referee.
© 2005 Teresa White
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