Poetry Friday: My Biggest Fear

After posting Mary Oliver's Alligator Poem last week, I decided to try my hand at writing a poem about my biggest fear. Alligators are a phobia of mine, but not something I really worry about here in Minnesota! 

I knew my greatest fear was bad news about one of my daughters. Horrible news from a police officer at the door or a doctor armed with charts and x-rays. I went with the police officer at the door and tried to imagine myself in that moment. It was hideous. But I've been working on a poem to try to express a little bit of what that moment might be like, and I don't think I'll ever really like the poem or get it right, because it's actually painful to work on. But I'll throw it out there this week...


Swallowed Whole

“I’m”
      he stands at the front door
      his face like a rubber sheet
      stretched over a toothpick scaffolding
      carrying death in the pocket of his
      navy blue uniform
      orderly, with perfect creases

“sorry”
      before another word crawls from his swamp-mouth
      I inventory:
      who’s not here?
      who will never be here again?
      then I know

my ribs collapse

disintegrate

shrieking winds
shred my empty
skin

my eyes are a blind camera
my legs are just an idea
my life—the future of the world—flashes through my head

      raptors screaming toward me, flapping savage wings
      mechanized gears grinding into me
      trout gasping for water...drying...dying 
      millions of pixels in chaos that form no picture
      ashes pouring down my throat 

my heart
     
     freezes, 
     
     shatters, 
     
     falls

like a white ash tree’s purple-bruised leaves
drifting into
early snow


---Laura Purdie Salas