You Kill Me and I Am Born… Again… At the Same Time
By Mylo Mittman
You Kill Me and I Am Born… Again…At the Same Time…
Peace is the thing finding G-d
Is supposed to help you find.
Same with meditation, hot yoga, and
—I’ve seen someone argue— sex.
I remember Peace coming to me
As I melted into the sidewalk,
Pressed into concrete and sun,
Grass and sun
As I sat with an old cat
So I could watch,
From at least fifty feet away, unseen.
I was worried about them,
So I sat and
Made sure they got home safe
At morning-night.
Then,
And,
Only then
Would I let waters once of my own mouth,
Now eyes
Cleanse me.
Peace visits, bringing the soft, dark blanket of sleep,
Then traps you
Because it works with the holes
Blasted into your brain
By some gun passed
From father to son
To mother to son
To child, you.
Of course, it does.
Peace, though, usually a friend, comes
After crying your eyes out
Over the same problem
Or, sometimes,
Regrettably,
Person or fight,
Two or three months
Or years
Apart.
Sometimes it makes you too tired
To think about what it really means.
You only manage a:
“What, really, is”
Before you get tucked in by that blanket
For the night.
The Trinity Review 