Somehow
(I don't recall quite when)
it seems
I
died.

and then, you ...

You came and stayed and
from the ashes of this pit
you pulled and pulled and
still, you pull...

still, still...

The truth of what is
keeps me merely staring
downward as you pull
and pull and ...

Ah, you are wearing away
at me and your grip
(that pull) begins to
force my eyes awake...

yet...

As you pull, I refuse to take
the rope as I've hung myself
and others before, again
and again...

and you...?

And you look, now
and ask with those eyes,
determined, somehow to
do this...

why am I not ready?

You are not the others,
no...yet, they still live, here,
always, somewhere within this
box bound tightly to my chest.


                   I am Pandora

Still, You Stay...


So I reach and take
that rope and climb as you
pull and look to
those eyes...
And I begin to
pray and hope that
their blindness is knowing
how to believe.

make me believe!

Please, you must show me that
it is real-- this! You!
reaching, pulling,
asking, "Come?!"

          yes...

Quickly,
close your eyes
as I close
my own and
I will come to you
climb your tears and
learn
once again...

are you ready?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Georges Seurat's "Seated Woman"