When the Men First Tried to Talk

author’s note:

I guess I could have used women instead of men in the poem below.

But men are more believable.


WHEN THE MEN FIRST TRIED TO TALK

Word had gone out
across the land:
   Men need to gather together
   to express what they think and feel.
   That type of deep cleansing release
   will benefit the world’s mental health.

In response to the call
nine men in our small town
sat down in a circle
at the community center
to share what they felt.

But the first one to speak
began by stammering
then fell into mumbling
then started to cough and sputter

then suddenly
he clutched his chest
and fell over to the floor.

As the others leapt to his aid
a cry issued from the man’s flaccid lips—
a big bellow of pain that froze everyone in their place.

In the next instant, they all collapsed onto the floor—
hit with a blow to the heart.

The men lay blank for a moment
then rose slowly, still stunned.

Apparently the painful lament
of first man’s unseen wound
had triggered a response
from the unseen wounds of the other men.

The nine then realized:
talking about feelings is dangerous.
You don’t know what you might be holding
down there in the dark.
Better to keep the pain in a box.

So only a few minutes into the first meeting
the group decided to disband.

And then tried to shut down
the desire they’d roused:
the desire—the drive—to express
what they thought and felt.
This conflict led those men into
all sorts of destructive behavior.

Of course we know about substance abuse
but there are many other activities
you can use to drown yourself:
one man simply sank

lower and lower
into his TV sofa chair
while resisting orders to resurface.

But like the rest
in time, he sought a prescription for his excesses.
And like the rest, he was then told:

You need to give voice to your deep wounds.

Yes, talking about feelings
can knock you down
but not talking about them
will not only knock you down
but keep you down.

So a few months later
the nine men sat down in a circle again.
Again, they’d work
to raise those shadowy feelings—
but now they’d go slowly, gently.
And pause for coffee and donuts.

Nonetheless
someone still passes out occasionally.
But once revived
they merely shake out their head

then straighten their shoulders
and continue talking about the wound.

Yes, we still dread the deep sting of truth
but these days
we bare our chests
and proclaim:
In order to feel better
I must first feel worse.
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