author’s note:

Another poem previously posted on another blog and recently tweaked.

The monster mentioned in this poem comes from a movie, made in the late 50’s or early 60’s.  Unfortunately, I have forgotten the title.

As I recall, a woman is hypnotized each night as part of a club act.  Her somnolence creates a monster that rises from the ocean waters to terrorize the town.

I saw this movie years ago at the New Orleans Worst Film Festival.  But I don’t consider it a “worst film”–the movie may lack artistry, but it has plenty of raw instinct.
 

GRIEF WATER

In the time of intense grief
I went to the water–
to a small bay
filled with oceanic feelings
all the way
to the horizon–

a wheatfield of mud water, water
soiled by the erosion
of the roiling waves–waves
beneath the surface.

I went to the bay because
emotions are not something
you can hold in your hands.
Not something you can quantify

except to say: it is more, then too much
then less–

but still something–
sometimes too much even when diminished.

Emotions usually feed as whales feed–
in large amounts on small things.
But emotion wants more
even when well-fed.

I went to the water
because I’d already been
to the wood–to the scraggily
crackling underfoot–stumbling
the clumsy root

onto the knee bone.  The dust mold drifting
through the beams shooting
down through the branches
can irritate

grief-sensitive nostrils.

I needed to be washed clean

so I wadded out into the brown water
toward the setting sun, though I knew
I could never reach the edge.  Even so

I listen to
the desire
to lessen distances.

The water rose until the coolness
touched my chest heart.
That same oil slick water
curdles duck feathers
and reflects gasoline rainbows.

Nevertheless, I cleared–

sliding through folds
of slippery copper sun paint;
assuming the chilly calm
of a water mocassin

until I realized I bordered the territory
guarded by that scaley web-foot monster–
the one that rises at night from the depths
after the lonely trembling woman
has been hypnotized rigid.

So I dredged my feet from the water muck,
I walked myself back out:
         changed now–yes, somehow
collected through dispersion; strengthened
by giving up.

I still don’t understand
how this mechanism works;
I still don’t understand
how to work this mechanism–

so–until I do–
I can’t–I won’t–take credit
for being
the person I’ve become.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
dream steps
earnest audio