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Ordinary Sadness


Who does one speak to -

About ordinary sadness?

Who does one call on –

When one feels Brown?

For it often won’t seem big enough, or dangerous enough

To warrant a phone call to a friend,

Or a wailing scream,

Or even one teardrop,

When it is ordinary.

It is an ordinary feeling of

Separation;

A bitter estrangement

From all relations of

Sudden love

And unexpected belonging.

In the parting of body and truth,

I ask for recognition

As remedy;

To be seen and held

In those eyes.

In those eyes that feel, as well as see,

And within their purview we feel us.

A seeing that is not White Male gazing,

A looking rather than spectating.

To be felt: to be recognized as more than one.

A doctor’s eyes don’t do that kind of seeing.

A neighbour’s eyes don’t do that kind of seeing.

My boss’s eyes won’t do that kind of seeing.

And bringing,

And conceiving.

And making a picture of you – of all of you

In the seer’s mind.

And holding the sorrowful you – and all of you

In the seer’s arms.

And conceiving with understanding – with all of you

In the seer’s eyes.

Such simple remedies are these

For this ordinary sadness;

Such ordinary remedies are these.

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