Those Days

The other day Rachel asked him
if he ever was sure of Mom
He said it was her fault
and she'd admit it one day

I don't remember much of those days
Christmas one year, though pretty fuzzy,
ecstatic over articulated action figures
Sneaking to the balcony with Rachel
just to watch them watching television
Always caught and sent back to our beds
But we'd do it again, and we waited for it
Waking up to the sound of metal on metal
and the smell of sawdust from the cages
He worked in his shop always,
and I didn't know what to make of him
Winter colds with the cough gator
It somehow made the syrup sweeter
The cats, all three of them, individuals
Helmet was always my favorite
He had a BB in his leg, from a neighbor
Always a warrior, at least I thought he was
Of course, Patches, the family dog,
and we neglected her as most do
My birthday one year in the cubby,
jungle sounds, legos, and a toy gorilla
Most of all I remember coming home
fresh from school to a lonely house,
with the blinds closed and air cold
I can see him weeping on the couch
That's something that remains clear
Or sitting alone in first grade crying,
unable to understand their decision
I don't remember her, though
Can't picture her from those days
I can't even hear her voice

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Orchid and Moth

He contemplated the discovery
The petals would draw one's eye
a soft white against the darkness
Phantasmal, trembling gently
upon the air's invisible currents
The orchid encapsulated
the kind of vanity
that his species idolized
And for that she was sought after
and burdened to the threshold
Her beauty only surpassed
by her vulnerability
For her very existence,
apart from their influence,
was also dependent
on the slightest insect, owl-like,
with mica-dusted wings
And the moth,
with a clandestine signature,
had matched her investment
Equally useless without her
It was something that
gave him hope, cause, inspiration
A reminder that nothing is wasted
but in the man-made realm,
and that independent lives
do sometimes intersect
to live for one another

Unbending (made-up, preoccupied)

I won't bother lying about it
I get frustrated at times,
how I can't tell if
you can't make up your mind
or if you're just waiting
to break it across my back
One night you'll be eyes to the sky,
all starlit and mystical,
and the next, submerged, clenched,
closed underwater
That's a shame too,
I've let it dig too deep before,
because I never waver
certainly, not about you
Even now, frustrated, afar,
I remain unbending

The little ones...

"I can't trust you with the big things, until I can trust you with the little ones."

10/18/10

He walked out along the creek for a while. Something in him cold and humble and complete at the sight of it - the water so clear; its tiny currents converging and diverging to create scars upon its trembling surface. He placed each step carefully, not to disturb the water and cloud it, and he walked along it for a while until he found a suitably secluded place to rest. A tree had fallen there, and it's bark had sloughed off in great heaps now growing moss. Just below, the creek came over a boulder and passed through the air a few feet before crashing back upon itself, and forming a small pool where larval salamanders crept along the silt with their feathery gills bellowing. A log from the felled tree rested diagonally there, one end rooted in the pool and the other against the boulder preceding it. He lay down on it, cupping his hands against the falling water, washing his face and drinking, then just resting. He had no intentions of leaving. Even considered what might happen if he were to stay forever.

A Lack of Convenience

It read that "a lack of convenience" could tell him a lot of about the love. It might suggest the profundity of it. The truth of it. It read that when the circumstances are convenient, it's easy to be deceived, and when it's inconvenient, it usually dwindles and fades before being snuffed out altogether. As if it's not worth it. It's not worth the effort inconvenience implies. And that drew the subtlest of smiles upon his face.

Needed Sleep

This morning he remarked
that he needed a lot of sleep
It's true he worked hard,
as he had a family to provide for
and he held them first
Really, truly, he was weary
by the end of each day,
but it was not his body
that begged for slumber
He did not exert himself,
he'd likely sleep less if he did
It was something else,
something numbed,
drenched in vodka,
and it was tired and weary
so it needed to sleep
I think, perhaps,
those are his finest hours
When he lays down to sleep
and lets it all go away
I wonder how he dreams,
if he sees exotic places there,
or just serenity here
I wonder if he remembers
when he wakes up

Everything You're Not

I occasionally contemplate
if I'd recognize you now
and how I might react
I suppose I'd do nothing
and that doesn't bother me,
because I'd never grant you
the effort of revenge
It's hard to say how much
your actions there affected me
Some days I think
they barely changed me at all
On others I wonder
if they laid the foundation
for all I've become
All of my strengths,
and the insecurities too
Everything you're not