Dust

 

     We can all identify in some way to addiction. Regardless of what that addiction may be, no matter the greatness of it, we all share in the same struggle to let them go, to release that thing which holds our hands behind our backs and our truths hostage. This poem is about the sad dance we do to entertain our addictions, to pretend they don’t own us, and to prepare for the day we will be ready to bury them. Most people can relate.

     I pray whatever has you, that you will one day find the strength to live free of it. I don’t remember exactly what inspired me to write this poem and to my recollection I have never shared it with anyone. I feel compelled to do so now, in the hopes that it will touch the heart of someone in need. Thank you for reading and I welcome your thoughts and comments. Here is “Dust.”

Dust

Addictions collect,
blend in the wash.
We hang their silent arsenal
to dry in the sun.

We pull them down,
flap the dust free,
floating between smoke bunnies
that land and swim in our drinks.

(Dust drinked down
is just as dry.)

We cannot nail the casket shut
just yet.

 

Christina Ward, Feb. 2008

4 thoughts on “Dust

  1. This is beautiful and sad at the same time. It makes me think of someone living in a place with miles and miles of dried red clay, and cracked Earth. And as you drive through, you see a mother with children sitting around her playing in this dust as she hangs white torn up towels on the clothes line. And as they look at you, you see the tears just slipping out of their eyes. It is beautiful and very, very sad.

    Like

  2. I honestly don’t know why I was so moved by a poem about addiction. I have never been addicted to anything but cuddles and food.

    Like

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