The Things that Endure

It is a question of method.

Don't be surprised,
as if you didn't see it coming.

You may think you know me,
but you do not...
though you should have known me -
I've revealed myself
more than enough -
I have nothing more to offer.

I only hope to be different
than Anne Sexton,
“Wanting to Die”
or Sylvia Plath confessing
her suicidal intentions.

First my aunt did it
back in the 80s and
it seemed a bit strange back then -
I had no idea she was
so depressed.

I've seen her since then.
She seems fine now -
in dreams.

How can this be?
Don't ask me
I just know that she seems fine.

The native Americans
believed that the dead,
or the souls of the dead
visit us in dreams...

So maybe auntie Rosie
was telling me
all is well now.

Then there is my first cousin
Karen, who hanged herself,
back in February of 2007.

I miss her and want to know
why.  I didn't know she was
depressed either.

When it comes my turn
I don't suppose anyone
will really be too surprised.

I could be wrong...
maybe finally, in this last act,
someone will find something
interesting about me
and what I've done.

In all truthfulness
though, I hold out no hope
for this.

I only know
that the only thing
I can imagine
that actually lasts
is this one act...

otherwise
I'd have nothing
against life itself
but nothing
ever lasts!

Bruce Whealton – poem for April 22nd, 2009