Helium Things

Certainly.  Remind me how it's
darkest before the dawn
(exactly how long before dawn?).
I'm photo-phobic.
Every outdoor picture has me
squinting, back to childhood,
my father dutifully standing
between the sun and me
(the sun so high, he could not protect me,
didn't pretend to protect me).

Decades later, my mother and I
traveled, to heal our relationship
(long before chronic illness,
ungagging, took me whole).
But she ridiculed me for dragging
the cabin's small table a few feet
from the glaring light above it.
Turning off the light would have left us
in darkness;  of that we had enough.

Now, today, as for some time,
I live in all my dreams,
have invested them
with as much reality as the sun.
What could have been,
might well have been,
might still be, most probably could be,
will be!  if only........
all necessary nonsense. 

My dreams, that is, are glareless,
nothing needs moving,
there is no wincing for posterity's
perfections, no need for protection.
I see neither the searing day
nor the moon's acne-d scowl
(yes, even the moon hurts).
All is well inside the skull,
nightly cradling my eyes like
little helium things darting
right and left, adapted, adept.

Phantom by choice,
not (no longer) resignation,
I wake at times
to that other place of crisp
(too)-sparkling grass,
the bleak integrity of mirrors,
light's leaving a dying bird's eye --
the sun at my back, always
at my back -- my shadow vowing
it is lightest before the dusk.

The dark licks me like a lover.
I embrace it, fearless, tear-less,
black with joy.

Copyright Julianza K. Shavin 2009