Florence Mango

Life Keeps Happening

The crabs bury and birds cry,

but they don’t know about the parasites,

the incest,

the illness above and below,

 

the way it never changes.

 

When a beaver builds a dam

and the water stops flowing,

he can rest.

Even among stillness,

I lay awake, I keep stumbling,

I still hear it flooding.

 

Life keeps happening,

and even on dry land, I drown 

in the arms of perseveration.

Perseveration, perseveration– a sinkhole where

everyone else can forgive

but I was never angry.

Water tastes so bitter in the lungs,

but only an angry person would spit it out.

 

I hold it down. 

I asphyxiate, I turn a fine shade of blue,

and the theory remains, that

life keeps happening.