In response to the recent death of Philip Seymour Hoffman, there’s been debate over whether addiction is selfish or, perhaps, guiltless. Today I came across a poem I wrote years ago with that title, “Guiltless.” I thought I’d post it. I’m not sure if it’s relevant, but I’ll share and let you decide.
On that night when my heart hurts —
when I can’t think of anything to say,
the world moves forward outside my window
where the mesa stands strong and the people look
content and carefree in my thoughtless and empty sight…
On that night the stars still shine
and the moon still sets its glow over the city
while I worry about the words I said to you.
I wish I was the leaf.
I wish I was the river.
I wish was a field of purple aster
or a dangling bat wrapped safe in the cape
of my own wings.
The fox and the cat wander the same midnight road.
They pounce. They screech.
One eats, lies down and sleeps
full and deep.