Determined to keep breathing

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

There are mornings when the world seems full of so much horror it is hard to keep breathing.

Because it somehow hurts to breathe in the sweet air of spring.

There’s no need, I think, for me to share my shopping list of anguish.

You will have your own…

Better, perhaps, to share an old poem - a poem from late in the nineties when I was beginning to find the words to express who I am.

I called it “The Naming Of Chairs”.

let me introduce you to these chairs

that one's Doris. that one's Bill.

that one's Frederick. that one's Jill.

used to be Jamie. she was having problems then.

but she's much better now.

in fact she's doing very well thank you.

I often think of chairs.

- that one's Dolly, this one's John -

and I think it's really sad

every one has their histories

but people just park their bums

without regard for the places
that they're putting them

life can be so impersonal don't you think

so important to respect individuality.

that table's Janet.

the ceiling's name is Jim.

everything has  a name, if you look out for it. and the names matter.
they put a ring round things.

the wall's name is Paul

but close friends call her Mavis.

names are important, names are a defence

against an anonymous and faceless world.

Jennifer's the light bulb's name

But she used to be known as Robert. She hated that.

names can be a fortress

names can be a safe

but sometimes we get locked in them and then we lose the key.

the light-shades name is Richard

He used to be known as Paula.

It was horrible.

names can be a prison

names can be a bind

names can just confuse you

names can make you blind

names can leave just not knowing
who in the world you are.

don't ask me what I'm called

I don't have a name.

I lost it long ago.

it wasn't my real name anyway.

(I'm not a lightbulb. I'm not a chair)

my real name's in the distance, over there

I don't know where:

it's not a place I know.

it's somewhere that I've never been,

but mean to go.