the repressed, releases
I wonder if my psyche can get “the bends,”
like coming up from deep below the ocean’s surface,
too fast,
and the nitrogen repressed into the blood
bubbles out,
I disengage from teaching,
and I do not know what to do with myself,
besides throwing myself into new actions:
making applesauce to hold the evanescent
in a tartly sweet jacket,
ready to share, to connect,
to cook: angel biscuits, pork-filled buns,
chicken for salad,
all for others, and myself, in our Mt. LeConte extravaganza,
but if I’m not doing,
if I’m released from what normally defines me,
my psyche rebels, like the nitrogen,
anxieties I’ve repressed release themselves and scare me
with my not being ready for a transformation
into a different definition of self,
for now I fear retirement,
for I fear I’ll look down
like a cartoon character over an abyss,
and then I’ll fall,
the ground, no longer repressed, coming for me.
by Henry H. Walker
June 22, ’17
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