I Have No More Speeches

I Have No More Speeches

(“Woe to you lawyers as well! For you load people with burdens that are hard to bear, while you yourselves will not even touch the burdens with one of your fingers.” Luke 11:46)

The path is not steeper but
my steps have grown slower.
My dreams are now erasures of
things that once were second nature.
I no longer draw people with my words,
I see them leave upon the first stroke of the painting.
I try to pray at the end, a benediction, and bow to
tie blessings to bodies that wander like planets.
I did not reach “amen”. I quit halfway through.

We met in catacombs, a basement with rooms like
honeycombs. I had been there often where antique books
and furniture
could be found in every alcove. This time all was removed
except for the corners. It was now a labyrinth.

I let you down. I ran out of breath. I remembered every stubbed toe,
every stumble that was the death of the next thing that I carried
like an obligation. Some saw and carried me further.
Some heard and only guessed. I knew. And could not
lay the burden of dying to rest.

There were eyes of unseen guests; they may have been there
from the beginning. The only ones I remember were the
tears that came from all the pain of dragging their war chest
so far up the mountain.

I exhale and sit on a gray concrete block. I cannot
cry. I am shaky and flushed and wish there was a spinet piano
to hide behind. This climb has not refined me, it has subtracted
layers of flesh from my feet and years of conquest from my soul.

I have no more speeches within me. My prayers have come to an end.
I’ll move outside the hallowed basement and
hope for the joy of finally
not being seen.