A poem for Monday

On Saturday, I tried to do a two-person job by myself and ended up hurting my wrist and back. So yesterday was laid up and sore and full of anger at myself. And I don't know whether it's impatience or independence or a little bit of both that makes me put myself in these situations, not wanting to ask for help, not wanting to wait to get something done according to another's schedule.

There's part of me that feels fractured into pieces the more people I let in. My friends constantly tolerate this push-and-pull in me; wanting intimacy, feeling smothered. It's the part of myself that I least understand, this problem I have with needing people. Sometimes, it's even a fear of other people, an idea that all relationships can become adversarial or threatening. I think I'm always struggling to share myself and to keep myself whole.

This poem is by Mark Strand.

Keeping Things Whole
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
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