Two Poems by Leah Mueller

beach tumbleweed captured by Leah Mueller
“beach tumbleweed” captured by Leah Mueller

ILLEGITIMATE

I don’t blame you,
I blame your mother
and the three months you
spent in limbo, as if
you were still in the womb
draining the embryonic fluid
while fretting, knowing
a change would come,
and it most assuredly
would not be good.
You live in that space
between arms,
those appendages
that refuse to embrace you,
and are rendered helpless
by your constant need
for touch, no matter
who offers it.
I have the larger hands,
but they are too small to cover
the gulf that separates you
from the very thing you
desire the most.
Those first three months
of your life,
in the Catholic orphanage,
watching the nurses pass
your crib, as you cried,
you learned that it was
best to say nothing
and to refuse security-
but five decades later,
you still extend your arms
and beg for entry
into any room
that has a spare bed.

 

"chains" captured by Leah Mueller
“chains” captured by Leah Mueller

PROZAC

The fear
of dropping
whatever it is
that we’ve been working on
to face the radiating terror
that illuminates our bones
is what drives our existence
into a frenzy of avoidance
with a whole industry of tools
designed to help us elude it.
It’s a wonder any of us
even get close,
because each attempt
also drives us further away,
we hop on the coals
until the heat forces us
to leave,
when perhaps the heat
has the answer.
Who knows?
We’d rather be spectators,
watch someone else do it,
retire to a place
that is pleasant and warm,
perhaps with a view
of the water.
I’m no different,
and I look through catalogs
stapled together
by other people
as I sit on my couch
and dream
of a life devoid
of introspection.

 

Find more from Leah here.