ChendaWrites: A Poem for Monday
A Poem for Monday
I fainted today on BART
It was a strange experience
I was was an hour late for work
My supervisor didn’t know
so she asked me: how would I
make up the time?
She was exasperated
said fine, but with a sigh
In the back of her mind
I think, there was a question
about my irresponsibility
my tendency to be late, which I knew
so I sat there quietly, not saying much
playing with the fringe of my jacket
feeling, the rough texture
between my fingers
I sit at my desk now
impatient and anxious
unsettled somehow
sipping slowly on a cold bottle of water
that I got from a stranger
thinking, about life, the random things that happen
the man offering me his newspaper
to fan my clammy face
another, giving up her seat for me
while I waited for the EMT
everyone late, on my account
but they all just smiled
I guess we’re all just running away
either away or toward
each other or ourselves
We want so badly to understand
to be understood, to see
despite our faltering eye-sights
Sometimes, when I rub my eyes
with the back of my hand
the grit getting inside, I can’t tell
if things are getting better or worst
if I’m happy or sad
Our manners can be so stiff
gruff and oddly formal
our bodies making tedious movements
by the firelight, trying to find an excuse
When we sit with one another
the heat in our faces, do we
watch each other shyly?
Or, turn ourselves away?
Try not to catch sparks
singe ourselves, on one another
sing songs that sound
too solemn, like hymns
We catch sight of ourselves
in the fading light, our roughened skin
dried tough by air and time
The facade cracking slowly
reminding us of who we are, who we were
who we could be, in heaven and on earth
our human desires, these universal things
can be, the work of God
or the work of people
unattainable or straightforward
These questions of faith
to which we avail ourselves to the sky
flail our backs for our mistakes
offer sacraments for sacrilege
pray to the mountains
But, I honestly believe
that it can be, much simpler than that
a hand, just like any other hand
ordinary and unassuming
beautiful, wiping gently away
the tears in our eyes
the question marks on our faces.
© 2010-2025 Chenda Duong
Note: “And it's only doubts that we're counting
On fingers broken long ago
I read with every broken heart
We should become more adventurous”
— Rilo Kiley: “More Adventurous” (2004)