Blurred

November 10, 1993

I am having a moment where I know

I am having a moment that reminds me

that no language can translate the silence

of letting go

The end unexpected

At the gate his father clapped him on the shoulder with a gnarled, weathered hand.  “Son,” he said, “you know I don’t approve.  The Light knows I can’t trust the other boys to take over the pig farm when I’m gone—they’ll probably sell it to those damn butchers on the other side of the family.  But as my own pappy used to say, when the piglets escape through a hole in the fence, you just have to trust that they’ll come back before a wolf gets them.  So that’s what I’m going to do with you.  I’m going to trust you’ll come home before a wolf gets you.  Or a bear.  Or one of them other weird creatures out there.”

Struggling to keep the quaver out of his voice, Bert answered, “Thanks, Pa.  That’s very decent of you.”

“Good boy.  Oh, and wait.”  His father began fussing with a bulky burlap bag.  “I didn’t want to send you away empty-handed against the orcs, so take this.  Whenever you use it, think of us.  And the pigs.  They’ll be missing you, too.”

From the sack Bert’s father produced a battered dustbin lid—the one, judging from its smell, that had been used to cover the dung.  He handed it to Bert.

“No, Pa, it’s too much-"

“You take it, son.  We’ll just cover the bin with one of Ed’s old sweaters."

Bert nodded, his eyes brimming with tears.  “I’ll use it with pride, Pa.”

“The Light bless you, son.  Now off you get.  We’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done killing orcs.”

Overcome with emotion, and clutching his dustbin lid, Bert opened the pasture gate.  He could hear his father start shuffling back down the road to the family farm as Bert himself stepped into a brave new world.  Determination, glory, and destiny would be his only constants now.

Five years later he was found dancing naked in a pub in Goldshire.

Offerings

December 8, 1991

It seems dark, consuming
I just did not know mercy could hide
within this inky cloak.

The driftwood keeps knocking in my head
death toll for who I was
traitor with nowhere to hide
ceramic vase broken
where I stored something
and it is something
something loud, violent, and very much alive
tapped until the crack first appeared
encouraged, tapped a little more
and a little more and a little more
and smelling daylight
dealt the crushing blow
Whoever thought a neglected child
could hit so hard.

This is not the person I wanted to be
this is not where I wanted to live
these are not the memories I wanted
to decorate my hallway with.

Still alive

              At first she was only gone once a week.  But then she started taking private singing lessons on Thursday, in addition to her rehearsals on Monday and Thursday.  Once she signed up for the Flamenco class on Tuesdays Jonah said to her, “Isn't that sort of overkill?”

            “It’s not overkill.  It’s fun.  You would know if you went with me once in a while.”

            Jonah started to say that he was glad she was having fun—that he just couldn't see why she had to be out having fun four nights a week.  But when Debbie slammed the pot onto the range top he decided to let the subject drop.

Cutting

Tired but awake again

because wakefulness is waiting for

my answer

I am ready this time

ready to embrace the disbelief

to refuse the hand that

once could pull me to

my feet

Floating into ache once more

with no morning defense

when the sun broke me like

a cudgel to

the head

stole from me any

last moments for

dreaming

Memory waits still and near for me

I am endlessly choosing I am

at last losing what allowed me to

creep through the hole in the

floor

So tired of attempting

            to end this need for sleeping

Empty

It's not that we don't want to talk.  It's that we don't know how.  

We talk in riddles and rhymes we swing from chandeliers we scream at walls we turn away from the bones scattered on the floor.  Who will be brave enough?  No one is guarding the door.  The red straw network was the long way here.  Now we just need a volunteer.

Anyone?

Watching over

December 11, 2013

Hello, monkey.  How are you today?

Swinging around.  Swinging around.  Chaos everywhere.