Inventory Upon Waking - Max Reif

[Larry Robinson]

Inventory Upon Waking


So many layers of me,
like a lavash sandwich.
On the surface, peace
of early morning solitude.
Just below that, dread
from unremembered dreams.
Weight up a pound,
two partly-resolved situations
still leaking anxiety.
Under that, dim jumble:
lifelong issues, post-traumatic
never completely gone.
Nervous tic that showed up
when I was seven.
Deeper still,
divine name repeating,
miracle deliverances
showing all is possible.
How far down do the layers go,
this delicate construction,
this feeling of gingerly holding
everything together somehow.
Later today, stepping out into the world
with a face to meet it: “persona”
to handle both tenderness and chaos.
I long for a lasting peace
cool sun in the sky every bird
bush and tree a platonic form
as I journey through timeless now
in a life free of conflict
conscious or unconscious
a work of art
divinely wrought,
perfection in the whole,
perfection in the part.
In the world
I actually enter:
echoes of horrors,
like being within earshot
of a battle.
In a place called Gaza,
in a place called Ukraine,
in places I’m not even aware of.
In Gaza especially,
horrors that leave me ashamed
to be part of the world.
Children scream their rage
and terror to the camera
(remembering a child’s terror
of being trapped, but theirs,
a thousand times more intense).
Oh, God, what a beautiful
and terrible world!
How do any of us
manage to live in it these days—
these mind-numbing days?

	- Max Reif