Conversation with George, Pt. 4

What if I loved you?

I ask him.

What if I loved how you

think about molecules

racing,

or slowing,

about color,

about owl calls in

the night?

Because I know you

do.

You are no weapon.

You are a boy who listens

to the flow of water in a

stream,

who once had a love affair

with equations.

We could end the war,

rather than start it.

George is quiet for a moment.

Well, he says, you will look

up the difference between

reptiles and amphibians

now, so there might be

something in all of this.

How much we will see.

There are still the dolls to

contend with.

Wondering

is the rain your final call

because I am wondering what this was for

           

why you ever loved me

why you do not anymore

there is no witness here

only ghosts of words that nudged into breath

           the shape of a fool      shivering and wet        

Waiting

I have been pining for you, old friend

I have been searching my organs for

clues of your existence

I have been listening to the buzz of

the lamps, my friend

I have been understanding that we

are all without evidence

Fear

March 25, 2004, California

Today I saw Dr. Winston and then Carrie.  They are all on the same page about the Lexapro.  I have four boxes of free samples sitting on my counter.  I am told that this is not a failure of strength or will.  Hopefully one day I’ll believe it.

Recovery

In a bold moment

            I said it had been worth it

            but knew you did not believe me       and neither did I

                        my black and blue hope you were hearing     

                                    to come

                                                to fight

                       

I am so tired of death

            please

                                    let it just once be life

Conversation with George, Pt. 3

I’m sorry, George,

I reply.

I didn’t know.  I wish

I could fight them for

you.

They would slash you to

ribbons,

he says.  You, who

can’t shout, who

runs in slow motion,

who can’t dial a

phone, or remember

our mission.

I wish you were interested in

our mission.

I have to stay here until

you set it in

motion.

That isn’t going to

happen, I tell him.

Are you or aren’t you

my friend?

Friend, he repeats,

sounding surprised.  Why

would I be your

friend?  What would the

point be in that?

We have a war to

fight,

and I am your weapon.

The boys are nice

enough, and I could do without

the dolls and their

knives, and sometimes

my thoughts echo.

But there is no love

here.

Look somewhere else

for it.

Acceptance

Not for the first time the King felt a fit of rage that he’d even met Kitty.  How absurd that she would just stumble into the Interior when he, and not someone else, was monarch.  And through the Arizona window, when the Last Window was located mere moments from her home.  Why?  Why couldn't she have fallen through some other window, realized her mistake, and retreated again to the safety of her own world?  Why had Kitty stepped through at just the moment she would nearly run smack into him on an extremely unusual scouting mission?  If only he could understand.  If only he could turn back time and make it so that he never knew she existed.