Poem
Inward Bound
Human Flourishing Communication Psychology Literature Creativity
Melinda Miller, inward bound,
Lost in woods of life bourgeois,
Amidst her mental life, a flaw.
Concerns endlessly circle ’round
Her fearful mind. Loop without end!
Even while talking to a friend
(One of four) and several walnuts.
“I’m at war,” she says. “It might be
My distant friends. I am crazy.
I could try the arts—” She shuts
Her mouth, then restarts, “My talent
And dreams grow quickly, like trees
So fragile that, toppled by the breeze
And spent, even then are not content.”
She speaks of this, of work, karate,
Mom’s most recent Tupperware party,
Of sexual relationships....
What can a walnut do? No more
Than listen. Help unlock a door.
(The heart is hinged with ears and lips,
They say.) But what I know most well
Is this circular revolving hell.
It’s rolling nowhere fast and hurts,
But it is a lie. It has a flaw.
Anxiety grins. We kneel in awe.
While tearing at our hair and shirts,
We are blinded by its vile deceit.
A truth revealed and hell is beat.
Look under your worry. Enter.
You’ll see the circle has no center.