By a Thread and a Prayer

Driving and thinking
about buttered Pop Tarts,
Italian glass and promises and
why you hang on to these things –
as if you needed tokens to
remember to feel bad.

Regurgitated patterns of
reaching out, reaching back
and retractions, and Dear God,
let us never forget the stuff
we keep, and the moments
and people we squander.

Holed up in a murky room,
inhaling poisons of air and
mind as you ponder the genes
and atmosphere of your person,
and just where the threshold
might be – the very limit of
pains one can accrue and
still manage to breathe.

© 2008 Marcy Stoeckel