Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelops me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus –
Things have come to that.
And now, each night I count the stars,
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted
I count the holes they leave.
Nobody sings anymore.
And then last night, I tiptoed up
To my daughter’s room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there…
Only she on her knees,
Peeking into her own clasped hands.
– Leroi Jones (aka Amiri Baraka)
Postscript:
I love the imagery in this poem, the ground enveloping, the stars being counted, then the holes they leave being counted.
You can read more about Leroi Jones here and here.
Tagged: Amiri Baraka, family, Leroi Jones, psychology, suicide, unsettling