Works by Frances Opal Forbeswww.ArtPal.com/joaimone
How I Get By at My Beloved's Bedside
for my wife Fran, whom I promised I would sell her work
(to raise money for her long term care: each sale pays for about a month of life)
I feel like there is something
burning, slowly, under my skin, all over.
I feel like I am being hit square in the face
With a sledgehammer,
But it's like time is stopped,
Like I am caught in that moment
When the bones are just about to break,
The walls of the flesh are about to give way
In blood, blood that is somehow hotter than it should be.
And waves seem to keep crashing down on me behind,
And as they hit me, tears flow out of my eyes,
And I am sobbing, but it's not like anything
I have done much as an adult.
It feels like I am a child wailing, over and over,
No words, just the sound my open throat makes
With the relentless pumping of my lungs
Straining to make that sound,
The one someone will hear.
I don't know what I need.
And my nose is running and running.
And I try to breath in and out,
Breath in and out deeply,
To let the pressure come down a little.
And it does a little, and my throat aches,
Not sore from screaming
But twisted tight like steel bent like rubber,
Wound so tight, so tight.
And it doesn't go away.
And when it does go away,
It still doesn't go away.
It's waiting there inside me
For another chance to get out into the world,
To put a little bit of it outside of me,
Because I am so full of all of it,
And it's pain but its not like pain,
Not like something you somehow think
You can get away from.
It's just there. And it comes out sometimes.
And I go on in between, doing things, just doing things.
But it's there.