The Tunnel I Traveled

The Tunnel I Traveled

If you had known me earlier perhaps
you would have seen the tunnel I traveled.
No compass, no sun to steer by, no stars to
navigate my way. If you had seen the cavern
I thought was home
I have no doubt (but then again, I do have some)
that my way would be clear to you. I might not
find my way out in the ashen dark. I might not
know where I arrive.

Sometimes I feel I must apologize for
the things I write. Sometimes my mediocrity
gets the best of me.
I’ve visited caves once or twice when they
turned out the lights. I could not see my hand
in front of my face, but I always hoped for one
person
to tell me the darkness was not my fault. The turning
of the tunnel with no light at the end
was a trajectory that was not part of me.
Or someone to tell me that, though I could not
find my way,
that it was still okay to feel, to cry, to misbehave,
to slip on the slimy stone path of the cave.

Why do I tell you this? Can I trust you?
Will you hear me? I know you will. I only hope
you don’t harm me or misinterpret me. Some day
all my anxieties will fade as the lights open for the
first act of a play.

I’ve discovered very little. I know less than I did
a decade ago. Some friends know everything.
I can hear them preach faraway on the
everyday hills.

Listen my dear one, my beloved two, my three who
will not be surprised that I write this way; I’ve lost
too many
who knew me well,
I do not want to lose another.

I’ll wait just inside the cave and hope for a visit
from just one
who will light a fire between us,
warm up my late life heart
and listen the whole night long.