Broken?

If your question is am I broken

then it comes down to cracks and bricks

and the mortar or glue or bindings used

to keep those bricks together

and whether they are supposed to fit another way

or fit

at all?

 

If your question is am I wrong

then it comes down to both the question being asked

and who is asking

and whether the correct answer is to left or right

or whether up should rather be down

and whether being wrong on this one is better

than being right

on the next?

 

If your question is why me

then it comes down to you or who else

and whether it's just as well it's you and not another

and just as well for you too

that it was this why

at this time

in this way:

and why not?

 

The questions we ask ourselves

under the greatest weight of the nesses

of sad and lonely and tired and empty

and the ever-lurking dark

are always out of context,

flowers and freight trains both hastening in our direction

while we are looking the other way.

 

Hold your hand.

Make the call.

Wait.

The only certain thing

is time's obdurate refusal to play an encore

or repeat herself for long.

Stand down. Play sad music. Endure.

The voice which whispers “No one knows!”

is one of consolation

not despair.