Wednesday, October 20, 2010
A new poem for the day -- Halloween potions soon, but for now a Zombie picture of sorts . . .
The priest prayed as I sat on a bedpan
covered with a sheet. Nothing phased me
anymore. My appendix ruptured, and all
anyone could say was Couldn't you feel it?
I'd gotten good at the not feeling thing,
and killing myself, it turned out to be
an inside job, an infection I couldn't quite
shake. Surrounded by people, I was alone.
I considered my life and wept until boredom
pushed me outside myself. Nobody knew why
I lived. Like Lazarus, I walked the halls
hunched over, staples in my stomach. They held
me together when nothing else did or would again.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience by which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.” Eleanor Roosevelt
Review on the documentary Hell House coming soon . . .
Benedictions and Maledictions