~Jody Gilbert
I stand alone in my apartment,
Yet, I also look down on me standing alone in my apartment.
I am two things at once,
the woman standing alone
and the hovering, observant self
The first is frozen, the second firey aware.
The woman-me sets her things down, and maybe makes a cup of tea
… but I’m not sure … I can’t quite remember …
She is like a hand that has fallen asleep.
The watcher-me examines the woman-me,
She is the hand that never sleeps.
She feels the texture of the situation,
Runs her fingers over the event
Carefully tracing every square inch
Assessing and ready.
But, the woman-me senses none of it.
Numbness is not nothing, at least not in my world.
It’s where two hands should sense each other back
And coordinate brilliantly,
But instead one is living dead weight,
while the other is hyper-living
Having to sense and act and protect and respond for both.
Numbness is not nothing, do not be deceived.
Inside that cool, sleek or unresponsive whatever with a blank stare
is a beehive frenzy of watchfulness, analysis and vigilance
resulting in calculated and exact words and actions.
People may pity me when they see that exterior, but there is a glory to it
My heart is like that sleeping hand:
… hit it, slice it, break it, tear it, stomp it, leave it, pull it, grind it, burn it, drown it
And I’ll never know.
I won’t feel a thing.
My second hand response has it all under control.
