We Are Tired

Summary

The text is a reflective poem expressing a sense of weariness and the haunting presence of unresolved emotions and thoughts, likening the feeling to being ghosts among the living.

Abstract

The poem "We Are Tired" conveys a deep sense of fatigue and a longing for normalcy, juxtaposed against the surreal backdrop of a dream involving ghosts and thrift store clothes. It touches on the paradoxical desire of some ghosts to remain present, the futility of rituals to dispel fear, and the dissonance of everyday life symbolized by a cricket mistaken for a frog. The poem progresses from a dream state to the reality of a gray morning, where the presence of hummingbirds and a bee contrasts with the narrator's sleepy eyes and tired heart. The narrator acknowledges the exhaustion of humanity, feeling like ghosts among themselves, and describes their collective song as the silent anticipation before rain falls from heavy clouds.

Opinions

The poem suggests that some ghosts, metaphorically representing lingering thoughts or emotions, may wish to remain present in our lives.
Rituals intended to alleviate fear are inaccessible, highlighting a sense of helplessness or the inefficacy of conventional comforts.
The natural world, with its vocal crickets and hummingbirds, is vividly present, contrasting with the narrator's and humanity's fatigue.
The poem reflects on the collective exhaustion of humans, portraying them as spectral entities lost among their own kind.
The author uses the metaphor of rain not yet falling to describe the silent, pent-up emotions of people, indicating a readiness for change or release that has not yet come.

A poem

I dreamt of ghosts, thrift store clothes being sold at a popup shop, displayed on wooden hangers, like life was somewhat normal but not. Someone said Ghosts do not wish to be here.

I walked away; turned on heel and said, I must object — Some ghosts wish to be here.

There were mirror rituals to rid us of our fear but we couldn’t access them.

Upon waking up, I heard a frog singing outside my window. The frog turned out to be a very vocal kitchen cricket.

The July morning is gray. It rained last night.

The hummingbirds ballet in the air while the same bee hides in an old, closed-up hibiscus flower.

My eyes are sleepy. My heart is tired. Humans are tiring. We are tiring. We are tired. We are so, so tired.

We are ghosts among ghosts among ourselves.

Our song is not loud like the vocal crickets or cheerful outside frogs. Our sound is the non-sound of rain not quite released from bloated clouds.