“What do we know beyond the rapture and the dread?” Stanley Kunitz
Migraine by Jane Schapiro
Pain, please I beg of you.
Let me sleep, let darkness rock me out of this world.
Take what you like, just go away.
What am I supposed to learn, what tidbit of truth
might I find circling this toilet bowl?
Please Pain, I beg of you.
Beyond the threshold, children’s voices:
Can we come in? What should we eat? Everyone,
can you go away?
Outside my room, questions pound
against my door. Do not disturb,
I beg of you.
How readily I betray,
pray to that Golden Calf:
Pain, take what you like.
Would I bind my first-born,
lead her to the altar?
Pain, please, I beg of you,
take what you like just go away.
There must be a blessing for when the veil lifts,
reveals the world as a luminous bride,
a few words we can whisper upon our return
when we kneel and kiss the Promised Land.
Anchored to the morning light, I sit,
mug of coffee, smell of toast,
the dog sleeping against my feet.
Ah, sweet life. Sweet, inviting life.
Down the street,
azaleas have bloomed.
A yard has exploded
in pinks and reds.
Nobody mentions the tangle of shrubs
that spawned such a glorious sight.