White Walls
I could think better that way.
It was the beginning
of the beginning.
After years of crazy
confusion and darkness,
I woke up
like divine intervention,
and saw the sun on the wall
and knew it to be
deeply correct.
But like most
beginnings,
it was just
the beginning.
There was a long way
to go from here.
And I heard a sound.
It was like a bell.
The cheek is on the canvas.
The cat is off my back.
And I’m right off my rocker.
And I ain’t never going back.
Years later,
walking in cold
night air.
Round white moon
in a clear black sky.
Round white moon
in a clear black sky.
I could feel the bell
swaying gently
within my warm body,
and I could see
the white of my breath
out in front of me
like a light house.
I took a job at the hospital,
sitting with people
who had tried to die.
One part of them
wanting to leave,
so another could arrive.
That crack of light
when the door opens.
And the breaking of bread
with a stranger
inside of you,
who has come
to save you.
Sitting next to her hospital bed,
l watched her sleeping.
She opened her eyes
very slowly
and told me
about her dream.
In the dream it was nighttime
and snowing softly.
The flakes were just
floating down.
And then she found
six bells in the snow.
She smiled
and the room filled
with light.
I took an apt
on the edge of town.
I kept it bare.
Just the white walls
and me.
I could think better
that way.
Oh, and the honey bear.
My bear-shaped
container of honey.
It was a tall white building
like a bright white moon,
sitting on the outskirts
of a city of lights.
I put the honey bear
on the window sill,
where the sun
could shine through it.
Turning the white wall
into gold,
knowing itself
to be deeply correct.
Taylor Jane Green
I could think better that way.
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